It Takes Two to Tango
by originella
Summary: Leia Beckett is the oldest daughter of Lincoln and Edythe Beckett. When she is sixteen, she falls for her foster brother, Owen Torrance, and the feelings are mutual. In their first year of college, when Leia comes up pregnant, they decide to keep the baby, and to achieve their dreams of becoming an attorney and a children's oncologist and to make their lives the way they want to.
1. Where Do I Go From Here?

Chapter One: Where Do I Go from Here?

"And you're sure you don't want to tell your parents about us?" Owen asks me. He is looking down at me, and the very notion that our bodies are curled around each other in the second bedroom of the guest house is enough to distract any seventeen -year-old girl.

"Hmmm? What?" I ask, my eyes locking to his.

He smiles. "Were you zoning out again?"

I feel my goose bumps rising for what must've been the hundredth time that day. I lower my eyes, the flush deepening my core temperature tenfold, and found I never wanted him to stop staring at me like that. "Yes," I admit, biting my lip. "And the answer is no, Owen. No, no, no. We can't tell them today..."

"Leia, come on," Owen says, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Give me one good reason why we can't tell them."

I sigh, looking up, and knowing exactly how to placate my boyfriend. I lean forward then and brush my lips with his, a feeling of delight flowing through me as he pulls me closer to him. "Because," I say when the two of us finally come up for air, "you know as well as I do that it isn't safe yet. Once you've aged out of the system, then we can be more careful. You're thinking of taking that scholarship, aren't you?"

He nods. "Yeah—I just don't want to leave you..."

I silence him with another kiss. "Don't say that," I whisper to him, taking delight in his shivering at my close proximity to him. "You can't turn down NYU. God knows I'd give anything to be accepted there..."

He grips me tightly. "You will."

I shake my head. "But with this scholarship, you get your pick of dorm rooms and apartments because of the settlement money after your mom's death. And you get to graduate in January instead of being stuck in high school until June. Don't worry about me, please, Owen. You have _got_ to take this thing."

"I don't know..." His voice is quiet then as he sits up, pulling me with him. He then proceeds to tangle his fingers into my raven, curly hair, which falls to the curves at my waist. "I guess I just know how good I have it with you... I'd hate to see you falling for anyone else in my absence..."

I catch his hand in my hair. " _Don't_ say that," I say firmly, and his eyes lock to mine instantly. "I love you," I say quietly to him.

He smiles. "I love you, too." "That is not going to change," I say, getting to my feet and looking for the obligatory outfit I had to wear for my birthday party. "If anything, what's going to change is your feelings for me," I say, bending down and giving him an eyeful of some sexy lingerie I'd gotten to go under the new outfit. "Besides, it's not like college freshman can just date seniors in high school. I'll bet you're going to trade me in for an upgraded, college model within a few weeks—"

Owen grabs me then, and a squeal escapes my lips. "Don't say that," he whispers, his arms tightly around my waist as I shiver with anticipation, the outfit falling from my fingers and back into a heap on the floor. "I love you, Leia Gabrielle Beckett, I am so in love with you, it hurts! I'm not going to trade you in for an upgraded, college model within a few weeks..."

"Months, then," I mutter.

He tightens his grip. "No, not months, or years."

I manage to turn to face him. "Days?"

Owen growls, leaning down and kissing me, hard, on the mouth. "No days, or weeks, or months, or years—or minutes, or seconds—or any format of time could ever, under any circumstances, change my feelings for you."

I sigh, kissing him again before managing to untangle myself. "Fine," I mutter. "I need you to get back into that monkey suit so that we can get back to the party. I know the whole double birthday thing has gotten old but what can you do when your parents who are really your aunt and uncle are dead set upon making an example of the first adopted kid?"

Owen makes a face. "They're one step away from being my parents, too, with that tone of voice, Leia."

"Point taken," I say, pulling on the tea-length dress and having him zip up the back once he's gotten his outfit on. I am just about to leave when suddenly, the telltale sign of shoes stops me.

The telltale sound of the main door squeaking erupts in my ears seconds later, and I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor, going soft as they hit the expensive carpet my parents had bought specifically for the front room. "Lincoln?" Sonny calls out, and my heart leaps with anticipation. "You here?"

"Shit!" I whisper to Owen, shutting the bedroom door quickly and making sure not to trip over my shoes. "What are we going to do?!"

Next, I hear what can only be my mother step out of the bedroom and down the hall, her expensive heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way out and into the front room. "Sonny..."

"Why is she going to see him by herself?" Owen whispers to me.

I shrug. "No clue..."

We hear Sonny sigh. "What is this, an ambush?" he demands. "Look, if you want to talk about the whole, 'Who's going to be the next captain of Manhattan SVU' then don't bother!" he says, annoyed, and I find I am shocked that my mother even has a shot at the gig, being third-in-command and all. "Clearly, we know who the best one is for the job here, Edythe," he tells my mother, speaking harshly, almost as if he was speaking to someone who had barely left diapers.

"Sonny, it's not that, I promise," my mother says, almost as if she is trying to keep her cool. "It's personal."

Sonny sighs. "Sorry," he says. "But I was talking about you, by the way. It would be an honor to serve under you."

"You won't think so in about five seconds..." My mother tells him, trailing off and waiting for him to ask her why.

As if on cue, he asks, "What do you mean?"

"Look, I know it's not a good time—well, it'll never be a good time—to tell you this, but, you and I need to have a conversation about Dallas."

"Dallas?" Owen whispers to me.

Mutely, I shrug at him.

"What do you want to discuss?" Sonny asks. "Other than the fact that you and I decided not to discuss that night ever again..."

 _That night_?! I think to myself. _What the hell_?!

"That's the thing about one-night-stands," my mother replies. "They always come back to haunt you...especially if things don't work."

 _Nailed it_ , I think to myself. _But still... What the hell_?!

"Wait... What?" Sonny demands.

"I took the morning after pill," Mom tells him quietly. "But apparently, your boys are stronger than that."

"What are you saying?" Sonny asks, and I immediately feel sick to my stomach at where this conversation is going.

"I'm saying that I was pregnant," my mom replies as my knees buckle and as Owen catches me. "I was pregnant, and I had a miscarriage a few months after that. Pre-eclampsia," she says.

"Obviously, that was your choice, but I would've wanted to be there for you..." I hear his footsteps as he presumably crosses the room to her, to offer comfort of some kind or other. "I'm really sorry..."

"No, you don't get it," she assures him. "I was pregnant—with twins," she says, desperation creeping into her tone.

"Twins?" Sonny demands, shocked. "Where is it? Tell me, Edythe—where's the other baby? Did you put it up for adoption...?"

"Him," she replies. "It's a boy."

"So, you had him?" Sonny asks. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's fine," Mom replies. "It's Fin," she tells him softly. "Didn't you ever wonder why his middle name was 'Dominick'?"

"Wait a minute... Our one-night-stand in Dallas was in December..."

"That's right."

"But you told everyone... You and Lincoln announced Fin's birth in November... I mean, it's his birthday right now..." "We forged the paperwork," Mom replies without missing a beat. "Fin was born in September, nine months after what happened in Dallas. I've been feeling guilty about this for years—I've carried the weight of the shame of this lie. And ever since Amanda called me into her office and demanded to know if we were having an affair, I knew I needed to come clean." She hesitates, almost as if she is willing for him to mentally catch up with this whole anecdote. "Look, if you want to fire me, I wouldn't blame you. I am a liar and I deceived so many people. I can't live that way anymore, Sonny... I'm sorry I kept Fin away from you, and you can see him as much as you want, but I'm sure you know that he thinks of Lincoln as his father, and tearing him away from this environment would only hurt him, and I know you wouldn't want to do that, now would you?" she asks, essentially pleading for mercy.

"No, no I get it, Edythe, I do." He sighs, and I can almost see the expression he is giving her in my mind's eye. "Maybe we'll tell him when he's older..."

"Yeah, we can tell him when he thinks he's seventeen, but we'll know that he's eighteen," she muses.

Sonny sighs. "Okay," he replies, and we hear the sound of the door opening. "Oh, and Edythe?"

"Yeah?" Mom asks.

"You think the sound of Captain Beckett of SVU sounds good?" he asks with a chuckle as they walk through the door together.

I get into my car on Monday morning with Owen, managing to play off the fact that he will be riding to school with me and not with Chelsea. Chelsea knew what we were up to and, out of loyalty to Owen—and fifty bucks every two weeks from me—she promised not to say anything. Although she was a sister to both of us, it was common knowledge that Chelsea didn't like me. She had successfully taken her place as my mother's favorite child, but I pushed that thought from my mind as I drove down the driveway on that overcast, November morning.

"I know what you're thinking."

Fighting the urge to smack him, I reply, "Charming. Now keep it to yourself or I am going to deposit you at the side of the road like in _Naked and Afraid_. Watch your step, Torrance."

Owen laughs, leaning back up against the seat as we drive through the gates and closer and closer to the freeway. "No, seriously, Leia. Come on—talk to me, please. You're convinced that Chels doesn't like you." "I'm convinced because it's the truth," I reply. "I don't want to have a sappy, stereotypical sitcom heart-to-heart with you, Owen, no matter how much I may love all those things. The fact is, your sister—our sister, when you get right down to it—has it out for me. Did I mention to you that she is making me pay her fifty dollars every fortnight to keep quiet about us?"

Owen sits up in his seat. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Oh, so of course she left out that information," I grumble in what I think is an annoyed tone as we leave the sanctuary of our property and arrive at the highway that will take us to the freeway. "She wants to appear all angelic and innocent, Owen, but I don't trust her."

"Now Leia, come on," Owen says, running a hand through his hair, which is as dark as mine. "It takes Chelsea a minute to open up to people. Just give her a chance."

I drum my fingers upon the steering wheel as we hit traffic; I come to the mandatory stop at the first traffic light, exhaling as the sun comes center stage, thus obliterating my vision. I let go of the steering wheel for a moment, grabbing my visor and popping my sunglasses over my eyes. "I've given her a chance, Owen—many of them. Believe me, there comes a time when I can't take it anymore. And if this means we're done because you're choosing your sister over me, then you'd best get a ride home from school with her."

Owen grabs my hand as the light turns green. "I would never choose her over you," he tells me as I try to pull into the intersection. "She may be my sister, but you're my girlfriend. I'm in love with you, Leia Gabrielle Beckett—that's the real reason why I wouldn't allow your parents to adopt me. I said a bunch of bull about how it was all about pride in my family name, but I could care less about all that junk, Leia, really. It's all you—it's always been you."

I quickly check my car clock and see that there is almost an hour and thirty minutes before school time. Pulling off at the side of the road, a few blocks from the freeway, I turn to Owen. In my seriousness, I push my sunglasses up and stare at him, my eyes wide with anticipation. "I love you," I tell him, point blank. "That is something that will not change. I know I went out with Ulysses Bernardo last year—which we all have to admit was the weirdest name of the world—but after you saved me from...the incident at the football game, it was you, Owen. You became my beacon of light in my otherwise dull world. I remember watching you, this brooding, dark and mysterious bibliophile for over two years when we were at school together, and just wondering what someone could do to bring you out of the shell you'd encased yourself in..."

Owen leans forward then, kissing me. "I love you, Leia," he replies. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, you certainly don't give up very easily," I say, turning back to the steering wheel and turning the key. "What was it you said?"

"Te amo te usque in sempiternum," Owen replies as we manage to get onto the freeway. "Forever will I love you."

I give him a half smile as I pull down my shades again. "Back at you, babe," I reply with a grin.

I remembered the conversation I'd had with my mother, the day she had decided to bring Owen and Chelsea into our lives. It was just after lunch period and I was in one of my acting classes, when suddenly my phone vibrated. I was in the middle of overseeing my directorial debut for the school, but we were making some good progress, I felt, that day.

"Take five everybody," I said, making my way to a secluded corner of the stage and checking to see who was calling. "Mom, what's up?" I asked, after I'd swiped the green phone icon to the right. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, honey, fine."

"Then, is there something I can help you with?" I asked her. "We're in the middle of rehearsing _A Little Princess_ and we only have three and a half weeks until opening day. We need all the time we can get..."

" _A Little Princess_?" she asks me. "That's the one about the girl from India and a garden, right?"

I roll my eyes, fighting to keep my tone in check. "No, Mom," I reply. "Same author, wrong story. You're thinking of _The Secret Garden_. The girl is still a princess, but she goes to New York and to a boarding school."

"Oh, yes, I see," my mother replies, and I know then that she is preoccupied with something else. "Listen, sweetheart, I want to know—are you aware of the Torrance twins? They're your age..."

I nod. "Yeah," I reply. "Owen and Chelsea—we're in the same grade and we've got a few classes together. Chelsea's louder than Owen, and Owen almost never says anything... Why? What about them?"

"Well, listen, sweetheart, their social worker called me today and, long story short, they're coming to stay with us for a while."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really?" I ask.

"Really," she assures me.

I clear my throat then, seeing that my actors were getting back to places. "Listen, Mom, that's great," I reply, "but my actors and I—we've really got a lot of work to do here..."

"No problem, sweetheart," she says. "And I just wanted to let you know that we're going to go car shopping this weekend—promise."

I smile at that. "Thanks, Mom. Really, thanks. Although I know this is mainly because Dad said something about me driving with Ulysses without some kind of adult supervision—but I'll take what I can get. A car. Wow. You two really must trust me..."

"Very funny," Mom replies. "And another thing, honey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"A condition for you having this car is that you're on hand to drive Owen and Chelsea to school in the mornings," she replies. "If Fairfield can take Felicity, Fin, and Hunter to school in the mornings _without_ driving to Queens, too, it would certainly make everyone saner."

"Yeah, sure, fine," I reply.

"Thanks, baby. I'll see you later. I love you."

"Love, you too, Mom," I reply, quickly hanging up. I look over my notes briefly before making my way towards my actors again.

Fairfield picked me up first that day before we began driving back towards Commack to pick up the other kids. Felicity piled into the car first, followed by Hunter and then Fin. Fairfield made chit-chat with all of them, while I merely plugged into my headphones and looked over the notes our drama professor had given us after we did a run-through of _A Little Princess_ for him that day. The drive back to Long Island from Commack was usually no more than twenty minutes and we soon arrived back to the compound shortly thereafter. We soon flew into the house, with Fairfield bringing up the rear, that afternoon, and I immediately found myself looking around for Chelsea and Owen.

"Come on into the living room," Mom said, knowing that the scent of Thompson's chocolate chip cookies would literally sweeten the deal.

Felicity, always astute when it came to having new people in the house, took her customary place on her favorite couch cushion. I remembered Mom telling her that, after eighth grade, she would be allowed to go to my high school, or a magnet school she wanted, if she so chose.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at Chelsea and Owen in turn. "I'm Felicity, I'm eleven, and I play violin."

Chelsea is immediately taken with her. "Nice to meet you," she says, and puts out her hand. "I'm Chelsea. I'm sixteen. I like designing clothes."

Once Owen, Fin, and Hunter had introduced themselves, I finally permitted myself to speak, after Mom gave me a look for not doing so. "So, I take it Mom already told you that I'm the adopted kid out of the mix..."

Chelsea hid her smile; obviously, something was amusing her. "She did, yes," she replied.

"I think you seem to have adjusted well," Owen puts in.

I raise my eyebrows. "Thank you," I reply as a key is heard in the lock.

"Oh, good," Mom, walking towards the front door and automatically grinning like a love-struck teenager when Dad unlocked the door.

"They've been married a long time," I say, deliberately looking away as the two of them proceed to make-out and talk about work in the foyer of the house. It makes me want to literally puke when I hear him asking her if they can slip away for five minutes, but none of my other siblings seem to care. The boys and Felicity are all engaged in conversation with Chelsea, who is hurrying to keep up and to answer all of their questions.

"Don't mind Chelsea," Owen said softly to me then. "Her bark is worse than her bite, I assure you. She's always done better with younger people."

I nod. "I'll remember that," I reply.

"What are you reading?" Ulysses asks me.

"Well, I _was_ reading something on Shakespeare for that paper we have due for English tomorrow, but Miley told me to check social media..."

"Why?" Ulysses asks, taking out his phone. He didn't really have strict parents, so him staying over was a regular occurrence, although he knew where to park his car so that it was unseen by my parents, and to sneak out via my private entrance an hour before they woke up. "Here, I got something... It's all over social media. Go ahead and check it out."

I nod, opening a new tab onto my computer and pulling up my social media profile, where I see on the home page that the top news story was my aunt, Livi Grayson's, name. "My aunt?" I ask, confused.

"Wait, isn't she the one who's the same age as we are?"

"Basically," I reply, clicking the news story. "'Sixteen-year-old Olivia 'Livi' Grayson was seen being taken by force from the home of her parents, Captains Hunter and Maggie Grayson, by none-other than her older sister, Sergeant Edythe Beckett, earlier this evening, eyewitnesses report. It is said that there was a brief verbal dispute between the sergeant and her father before Sergeant Beckett put Miss Grayson into her car. It is not a far cry from what Sergeant Beckett got up to in her teenage years, although who are we to judge? According to witnesses, there was a party gone wrong and a potential kidnapping. More at eleven o'clock on the news'" the article finished.

"There's a video," Ulysses said, pointing.

I click the video then, and what I see shocks me.

"Don't try to stop me from doing my job," my mother says, not looking back at my grandparents as she escorts Livi from the house.

"You're out of the family if you do this!" my grandfather shouts as my mom puts her hand on top of Livi's head and puts her into the back of her car. My mother turns and looks back at them, forcing and I see then that she is herself not to cry. Something is shifting within her then, and her jawline hardens, almost as if she is forcing herself to carry out the arrest of her own sister. "I was out of the family a long time ago," she replies, and the video then cuts out.

Immediately, I make a grab for my phone and call her. "Mom!" I cry, my voice filling with relief as she picks up the phone.

"Hey, honey," she says. "Sorry I had to rush out so quickly. With any luck, we'll be able to figure this work thing out and I'll be back in time to get a good nights' sleep. You and I are still going car shopping tomorrow, don't worry."

"Mom, it's not that—although, thank you, that means a lot—but the internet is officially blowing up!"

"Blowing up?" she asks. "Honey, what are you talking about?"

"Mom, did you arrest Livi?" I ask her.

"Great," she mutters. "Who told you that?"

"Livi had a party tonight—I didn't go—but some people were still hiding on the property when the bust happened. I'm seeing all my friends posting pictures, and there's a video of you hauling Livi into your car..."

I hear a click then, and I know that she has put me on speaker. "Honey, I'm standing here with Amanda and Carisi."

"Oh. Hey, guys," I say.

"Hi, Leia," Amanda says.

"How you doing, kiddo?" Carisi asks.

"Fine," I reply, motioning for Ulysses to stay quiet. "Look, I know the drill. Save everything to the hard drive and send it to you. I'm on it."

"Smart kid," Amanda says.

"Good work, Leia," Carisi tells me.

"We'll get it all to TARU immediately," my mom replies. "Honey, I have to go in with Carisi and question Livi now..."

"Okay, I've got everything here, don't worry," I say, knowing then that me hearing my father's car driving off the property wasn't just my imagination.

"Okay—you sure you're all right?"

"Mom, please. Give me a little credit here—I know the passcode to your gun safe if one of the foster kids gets out of hand."

Amanda and Carisi fight to control their laughter, as I'm sure my mom is attempting to do with her own temper.

"Sweetheart, may I remind you that my bosses are listening?"

"But you're friends with them," I reply.

"Remind me to never have another kid," I hear her mutter to them, and I'd bet money that they both salute her. "Get to bed before midnight, young lady. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she replies, hanging up on me.

"So, this means that both your parents are gone?" Ulysses asks me.

I quickly save my essay—only halfway done, but it wasn't due until the following Friday anyhow. "That would be correct," I reply, shutting my computer and turning to face him. "I didn't finish my homework," I say, putting out my lower lip and setting my computer aside. "I think I need to be punished..."

Ulysses widens his eyes and then grabs me, rolling on top of me. "I think that can be arranged," he replies.

"Good," I tell him as he lowers his mouth to mine.

I must admit that I was worried for the day that Owen turned eighteen, but it didn't come as much of a shock to everyone when he put a down payment on a lovely apartment in the city, an hour away. I spent every spare moment I could over there for the next few months, and he and I waited for the next ten months until my own eighteenth birthday so as I could formally move out to join him. It was tireless, the waiting, but Owen and I knew that it would all be worth it in the end.

I knew he shared in my disappointment when New York University rejected me, but I was quite shocked to receive a full scholarship to Hudson University. I took it and waited out the remainder of the school year. Summer happened, and the entire family decided to celebrate Chelsea's first summer of being a Beckett, but I begged off the trip and managed to spend several weeks of unsupervised time with Owen. I had never been happier, and when my family returned, they were none the wiser, and it was only weeks before Chelsea and I were due to begin classes at Hudson University in the last week of September.

My mother took me and Chelsea shopping about a week and a half before classes were to begin. Chelsea was going to be studying fashion, while I was going to be doing a double major of acting and law. The acting was for me, and the law was for my father, although I knew full well my mother was disappointed that I would not be pursuing a place at police academy—it just wasn't my scene. I watched as Chelsea completely monopolized the conversation, and it didn't even phase my mother when I went to the bathroom to vomit the Mediterranean food we'd had for lunch at Chelsea's insistence. Cursing myself for eating an overabundance of garlic, I decided that it had to be that, combined with nerves about starting classes for college.

I tried on a few outfits solo, and picked everything on my own, as my mother was much too preoccupied with Chelsea to even notice me. I forced myself not to let it get to me as I paid for my purchases. I told my mother I was sick and would take a cab home, but in reality, went across town and to Owen's apartment, of which I had a key which hung, hidden, around my neck. I let myself in, flopping down onto the couch and waiting for him to return from classes.

He arrived shortly thereafter, pleased to see me, and we sat together and gabbed about this and that. He told me I could spend the night and, since my parents didn't initially think there was anything going on between us, it wasn't an issue. I fell asleep in his arms that night, not even worried about Chelsea monopolizing all my mother's time. I even found that, in my thoughts, I never thought of her as my sister—just the child who stole all my mother's affection for me.

School began, and it took a toll on me, as I constantly had to drive three hours there and back each day. I initially considered getting an apartment, but thought it would look funny if I moved out on my eighteenth birthday. I decided to tough it out for eight weeks, but at the four-week mark, I was in for a surprise. It was during my Supreme Court Litigation class when, in the middle of my closing argument for my mock trial, for my first mid-term grade, I suddenly felt light-headed and ran from the room. I just made it into the ladies' room when I ran into a stall and was violently sick.

"Hey, Leia!" called Morgan Fullerton, my closest friend in my few weeks here, who was also studying law. "Professor Michaelson told me to check on you! Are you all right?"

I sigh, wiping my mouth with toilet paper and managing to limp out of the stall. "I think so," I said, crossing the bathroom to wash my hands and mouth out. "I've just been really stressed lately—nothing to worry about."

Morgan sighs, running her hands through her bright red hair. "Beckett, it's me. I know you—in these last eight weeks, we've become close, swapped stories, all of it. What are you hiding?"

I sigh, washing my hands in a methodic manner. "I don't know," I confessed. "It's just a lot right now..."

She nods. "You have a change of clothes with you?"

I nod back. "Yeah—I was going to stay at my boyfriends' tonight, but he has to cram for a test... Why?"

She smiled, gleeful. "Come stay at my place. I have an apartment five minutes from campus."

I sigh, relieved. "Thanks—my commute is three hours."

"No problem," she replied.

We finished with that class at around three and then she persuaded me to help her with some grocery shopping at the corner market before heading back to her place around four. She explained that her parents had owned the apartment when they were teenaged sweethearts before buying a house in Queens. They'd promised the place to her when she was a teenager and now that she was eighteen, it was hers. I felt relief that there was a guest bedroom, and knew that it would be a comfortable place to spend the night.

"I'm going to make pasta tonight. Okay?" Morgan asked.

I nodded, putting my stuff down. "I haven't had good pasta in a while—my newly adopted sister is gluten-free, so my cook only prepares that."

Morgan nods, hanging her bag on the back of a barstool as she unpacks the grocery bags. "Let me guess—your parents feel sorry for her so they let her monopolize all their time and run the house?"

I nod. "Exactly," I say, putting the pasta sauce and a box of pasta onto the counter and shaking my head. "It's absolutely ridiculous! When my mom took us shopping for college, Chelsea dominated the experience. She was always hanging on Mom and making her look at everything... Even when I threw up the lunch she insisted we get—of course, Mom lets her pick everything now—my mother didn't even check to make sure I was okay!"

"Cold," Morgan said, her blue eyes flashing. "What'd you do?"

"Well, I paid for everything myself and told her via text that I was leaving," I replied stoutly.

"Where'd you go?"

"My boyfriends' house," I say softly. "You know, he was being fostered by them just like Chelsea..."

"He a friend of Chelsea's?"

"He's her twin brother," I reply. "He didn't want to get adopted because he and I fell in love..."

"How'd that happen?"

I sigh. "Well, my ex-boyfriend and I were pretty serious—we started dating at the end of our freshman year. He was a football player, and got a scholarship to the University of Florida to play pro-ball... Well, one night at the end of junior year, I went to go see him after the game. He was really bummed because a pass had backfired or something, and then he asked if we could have sex underneath the bleachers because he was so upset..."

Morgan cocked an eyebrow. "What'd you do?"

"I said 'no', of course!" I cry out, disgusted at the memory. "I told him that he was crazy and that he should go home to shake off the loss. I tried to leave, but he grabbed me and wouldn't let go. He said that because I was his girlfriend, I should listen to him if he wanted sex..."

"Prick," Morgan muttered.

"You're not kidding," I reply. "I told him to stop several times and Owen was walking by and he shoved Ulysses off me—"

"Wait. Ulysses?" Morgan demanded.

I nod. "Yeah, I know—weird name. Anyhow, Owen told me to run off and to get home but I hid back and after Owen got hurt, I got him away from Ulysses and took him home. Owen begged me not to say anything, and I promised that I wouldn't. I thanked him for defending me, and then we ended up kissing and then we had sex...at the side of the road...in my car. I was so shocked that I nearly downed a whole bottle of morning after pills. Then I told my folks that Ulysses had gotten into a fist fight with some guy—I didn't name names, of course—but got it so they wouldn't press any charges. I said it happened outside of school and so the school couldn't do anything... I know I could've altered the course of his life, but I had Owen—secretly, of course—and that was enough..."

"Is it still enough?"

I turn to Morgan. "What do you mean?"

Morgan sighs. "Both my parents' are OB-GYN's," she confesses. "They said I had to choose from a list when I was ten-years-old of suitable careers; I chose lawyer because I didn't want to be a doctor. Well, I know a thing or two about what they do because I was their only child, so..."

"So...what?" I ask.

"Do you think you're pregnant?" Morgan asks.

 _Shit_ , I think to myself. "I don't think," I reply. "I know."

"How do you...?"

"I took a test a couple of weeks ago, and I got prenatal vitamins under an assumed name from a doctor," I reply.

"What's your plan?" she asks.

"My plan? Continue with school, and move in with Owen next month when I turn eighteen. I don't care if my parents cut me off—I made a deal with our bank. Once I hit eighteen, their names go off my accounts, so I have my own money."

"Does Owen know?" Morgan asks.

I nod. "Yeah, he knows."

"What does he say?"

"He says we can do what I want."

"And what do you want?"

I lock eyes with Morgan's. "We're keeping the baby and we're getting married," I reply simply, almost as if there was no other alternative—there wasn't one for me, anyway.


	2. You Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Two: You Drive Me Crazy

I turned eighteen approximately two and a half weeks later, and thankfully I wasn't showing yet. My mother decided that we would be going to the Bronx to visit our great uncles who were a restauranteur and a doctor respectively for Thanksgiving weekend, but I managed to beg off the trip. Jensen and Fairfield were going with my parents, while Thompson would be off with his family for the weekend. I was left to my own devices on that first afternoon, but a plan was then set in motion for the rest of the time I had the house to myself.

After I was sure that my parents, Jensen and Fairfield, and my siblings wouldn't be running back home, I called Owen and told him that the coast was clear. He arrived shortly thereafter, with his car, and soon we'd gotten all my important things into the back of my vehicle and his, and soon we were off to the races. As I followed him on the most direct highway back to his apartment in New York, all I could think about was my parents' homecoming.

There was a note tacked to the fridge with a magnet, which explained that Owen and I were in love and that he and I were going to be together and to live together and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop us. I'd been sure to authorize that my parents' names wouldn't be on my various bank accounts anymore, so money would continue to be a constant—until they decided to stop putting money into the account, that is. Owen told me not to worry, that our baby would be well-provided for, and that we would be able to continue to go to school, given that we'd bought all our books in advance and that the education itself was all on a scholarship.

I was shocked to see that Owen had already done some shopping; he definitely knew me well as a person, and it was clearly represented in the new décor. I was touched by this lovely gesture, and vowed to think of some way to thank him as soon as I could. I went to use the bathroom as soon as we brought the last of my things upstairs, and my jaw dropped to see that, in the little caddy beside the toilet, were a bunch of parenting books. I found I was surprised all over again; sure, Owen had said he'd be on board with everything I did, but it was quite another thing to just go through with it, wasn't it? The literature did nothing for me—it was all "How to be a good Daddy" books, so I decided that I would need to go to the bookstore soon to get some books—what else?—for myself.

Owen says he's going to head out after we both have studied for a few hours and tells me that he's going to pick us up some dinner. I cross my fingers that he won't ask me to make him an impressive turkey dinner as I kiss him goodbye. I go to what is now our bedroom and lie down upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I feel my eyelids growing heavy as I consider what is going to happen to the both of us over the next few weeks, and months, and years. It's not like I can just magically wish this all away; I chose Owen; I chose to keep the pregnancy; I chose all of this. It is then that, for the first time since I was about fourteen-years-old, that I consider my biological mother—Henrietta—and wonder, in that moment, if she would be proud or ashamed of me...

Dad's tirade on the day that he and Mom first found out about my condition still echo in my ears as my screams of agony fill the delivery room. _Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia_! I heard him shouting in my mind. _If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you..._ I allow my screams to drown out my father's words of anger, five months old...

I remembered it was a week after New Year's when he and Mom had come for a visit. I could tell by our conversations over the last few weeks that they weren't altogether on board with Owen's and my relationship, nor were they pleased with Chelsea for keeping it from them. However, they knew that I was eighteen and that Owen was nearly nineteen, so there was nothing to be done, really.

I wasn't expecting them; I didn't have a class that afternoon, but Owen did, so I was alone in the apartment. I peeked through the spy-hole as I'd been taught to do and immediately felt myself tensing up when I realized who was behind the front door. I quickly made a grab for a sweater of mine hanging up on a peg by the door and pulled it around me before unlatching the door and smiling at them. I greeted them and invited them in, telling them to sit down while I went into the kitchen to get them something to drink.

"Traffic okay?" I ask them casually.

"Fine," my mother replies. "Light. Your father and I took a couple of hours off for lunch to come by and see you."

"I'm sure she figured that out by now, Edythe," my father said, a light chuckle behind his tone.

"Well, it's good to see you," I say, walking into the living room with a glass of iced tea for each of them. "I'd come by more often, but the commute is exhausting and what with all the schoolwork I have to do..." I shake my head, perching in a chair next to the couch, where they sat as I handed over their drinks. "I had no idea that a double major would be so difficult..."

My father nods. "Well, it'll be good to have another lawyer in the family, sweetheart," he says with a smile.

"Henrietta would be so proud of you, Leia, really," my mother tells me.

"She had me pretty young, didn't she?" I ask. My father nods. "Yes—she was twenty-two. Although by then she'd already built-up her dental practice. She had been in her position for well over two years, due to her graduating from high school at fourteen and college with a Master's Degree at twenty-one. Of course, she was a receptionist throughout high school and became an assistant by her second year of college. She was well-prepared and equipped to take on anything, what with her salary of eight hundred thousand a year, and change, of course..."

"All of course, which went to you," my mother assures me. "The account is set to open for you when you turn twenty-five, although when you're twenty-one, and if you and Owen are married, it will go to you then."

I give a small smile. "Strange how certain trust fund rules are," I muse softly. "Of course, Owen and I are planning on marriage eventually."

"Of course," my mother says, smiling, although my father looks a bit annoyed. "I want you to know that I am here for you every step of the way."

"Thanks, Mom," I reply, "that means a lot..." I sigh. "Owen and I have been together for a while..."

"How long?" my father asks, and I see my mother's eyes glaze over then and then proceed to become preoccupied with some magazines on the coffee table.

I sigh. "The night I broke up with Ulysses, during junior year," I reply, finding that the guilt washed over me immediately.

"You never said why you ended things with him," my father says. "Just a cover story, really, but you never went into detail..."

I bite my lip. "He tried to rape me," I reply. "On school grounds—I left out that part of it. I know it was stupid—you don't have to tell me that. Owen saw the whole thing and told him to get lost but Ulysses wouldn't listen. He beat Owen up pretty bad and I finally managed to drag Owen out of there. I thanked him for helping me and then..." I feel my cheeks heating as I force myself to study the patterns on the used area rug beneath the coffee table—one I had made Owen promise to get rid of.

"I see," my father says. "So... This is why he refused to be adopted?"

I feel the sigh waft through me. "Yes," I reply. "I told him that we could end things and he could get adopted, but Owen was firm. He said that as long as I wanted this relationship, so did he. We both wanted it."

"I see..." My father is quiet for a time, before turning to my mother. "Edythe?" he asks her. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

My mother looks up and, upon feeling her eyes on me, I look up at her. "I knew about it," she said softly.

I grip the arms of the chair I'm sitting in. "What?" I whisper.

"I saw the two of you in the guest house," she tells me. "It was a few months before the adoption and everything... I didn't say anything because I knew that it was already too late..."

"Edythe!" my father admonishes.

"I saw the way you two looked at each other," she continues, ignoring my father's outburst. "It was—is—the way that Lincoln and I look at each other. I wouldn't be so selfish to take that away from you, Leia."

"Edythe, are you insane?!" my father demands. "If anyone— _anyone_ —got word of what they were doing behind closed doors, we could have lost Chelsea! She would have been taken away from us...!"

"Ah, yes, Chelsea," I mutter, leaning back in my seat. "She knew the whole time, you know—about me and Owen."

"Yes, we know, sweetheart," my mother replies.

"Did she tell you that when she found out the only way she'd keep her trap shut is with money?!" I demand.

My father's eyes turn and lock to mine. "I don't believe you."

I whip out my phone immediately and pull up my video voicemail system. They are time-stamped—nobody could tell me that they were faked. I manage to find one of the many I'd saved of Chelsea, for this very purpose. Did I feel bad about ratting out my sister? Not in the slightest.

"Hey, Leia—it's Chelsea, of course you could tell by the person talking to the screen right now," she said into her phone. "Listen, it's about four-thirty on June nineteenth, two-thousand thirty-six. I saw that you weren't at the graduation rehearsal, which is where you promised to meet me to hand over the two-hundred you promised me to keep quiet about you and Owen going to Bobby's party. Well, you know where I live," she says with a laugh. "Give it to me by midnight, or Mom and Dad'll be kicking you out! Love you, sister!" she says, in a voice dripping with sarcasm before the screen goes black.

My father looks shocked. "You're kidding..."

I shake my head, pulling up another video.

"Hey, Leia, Chelsea here," she says. "We're at September of two-thousand thirty-six," she goes on. "Listen, I'm not here to pass judgement or anything like that, but when you ran off and threw up while we were shopping with Mom, and then just up and left, I mean—come on! You're begging for attention here," she said with a scoff behind her tone. "I know you've been throwing up for a couple of weeks now, Leia, and believe me, you're not fooling anyone. I expect a doubling in my payments to keep quiet about you and Owen, and an additional fee to keep quiet about my niece or nephew," she says with an evil smile before waving to all of us on the screen, followed by it turning black.

"Please tell me she's lying—that this is all part of some epic, practical joke," my mother says, her voice begging me.

I sigh and shake my head. "Sorry," I reply. "It's true."

My father immediately gets to his feet, making a grab for my sweater and tearing it off me. "Dammit Leia!" he screamed, getting a good look at me.

"Lincoln!" my mother yelled.

"Dad, stop!" I cry, getting to my feet and walking away from him. "I've made my decision! I am keeping this baby, and nothing you say or do is going to influence my decision!"

"We're leaving," he says, glowering in my direction. "Edythe, let's go," he growls at my mother, walking towards the door. "Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia!" he thundered in the direction of the front door. "If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you..."

"Lincoln, okay... That's enough," my mother says, crossing the room and putting a hand onto his back. "Let's go." Once he is out the door, she turns back to look at me and gives me a rather sad, pathetic expression. She mouths, _I'm sorry_ before going out the door and leaving me there.

It was a full two months before my mother saw me again, this time to offer me a set of keys. She offered me—and Owen, and the baby—the penthouse apartment in TriBeCa that she and my father had lived in before they were married. It was certainly enough room for the two of us and a baby, and since they owned it outright, they didn't expect rent. She said that Thompson had agreed to come once every two weeks to help with the cooking, and that Jensen and Fairfield would be on-call for us until other help would be brought in. She also recommended a nanny who would provide us with the utmost discretion.

Owen and I officially moved into the penthouse two weeks later. We found the extra space invigorating, and we immediately set plans in motion for where the nursery would be. We decided on a room at the end of the hallway, along with a generous bedroom attached to it, which was where we decided the nanny would sleep when off-duty.

The interviews commenced within the week, and Owen and I ultimately decided on Cosmo Richardson, a flamboyant, openly-gay gentleman in his late twenties who had childcare experience fifteen years long. Once he passed the background check, we had him move in immediately. It was a bonus that he cooked gourmet meals as a hobby, and had an impeccable memory.

My water broke approximately a week and a half before my due date, and I found that I was more frightened than I initially suspected. Owen and I immediately called for an ambulance which got us there in under ten minutes. He'd texted my parents to let them know what was happening, but it was close to two in the morning, so I had little hope that they were awake. The pain was unbearable but when we streaked through the double doors of Mercy Hospital, all I knew was that a shot in the spine would be a welcome prick. In an effort to join the modern world, Owen and I had decided not to know the sex of the baby, in order to better raise the baby as gender neutral. Owen, I knew, would be happy with either, but I knew he secretly wanted a boy. He was so keen on decorating the nursery with Yankees and Jets jerseys and other various sports paraphernalia, but I urged him not to waste the money on the off-chance that we were having a girl.

At just after six in the morning, the doctors were urging me to push something that resembled a basketball out of my body. With Owen clasping my hand, and the effects of the epidural worn off, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, with beads of sweat dripping down my face and sticking to my slicked-back hair. Finally, the doctor straightened ever so slightly.

"Come on, Leia," she said encouragingly. "One last big push and then we've got it at last. Come on! Give me a big one!"

I let out a scream and, finally, felt relief as I felt something coming out of me. I then immediately collapsed back against the bed, while Owen kissed me on the cheek and went to cut the cord. I then sat up, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, but drawn to the mewls which I heard from across the room. I watched the doctors cleaning up the squalling infant and giving the mandatory injections before swaddling the little thing, and proclaiming the little mite at a perfect weight of seven pounds, four ounces.

"What is it?" I managed to get out, my voice hoarse as Owen quickly returned to my side.

"It's a girl, Leia," the doctor told me with a smile, crossing the room and holding her out to me.

Immediately I raised my arms up and took her, the light mewls subsiding almost instantly as I took her in my arms. "Hi, there," I whispered to her, and saw that she looked up at me with the darkest blue eyes I'd ever seen.

"She's beautiful," Owen said softly. He perched on the bed beside me, and was eagerly counting her fingers, although I saw that he sensed it would be rude to count her toes at the moment. "She's so beautiful, Leia..."

"Well, we'll leave you to get acquainted," the doctor said to us with a smile, and gave a nod to the nurses, who moved to leave. "Just let us know if you need anything, or if you've decided on a name for her. We'll be back to check in with you in a little while," she said before leaving us alone.

I felt a smile spread across my face as my daughter discovered my body, and then moved to move the hospital gown aside. She quickly found my swollen breast and then began to eat, her first meal post-utero. "I love her so much already," I told Owen softly, touching the soft raven down on her head.

"Do you have any ideas for a name?" Owen asked. "Do you want to name her after your mother? Your biological mother?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think Henrietta suits her."

"What do you think suits her?" Owen asked, marveling at the way her eyes moved around the room, trying to get the feel of the atmosphere. "She is as pretty as a picture, as an empress, as... Well, anything, really..."

"An empress," I whisper then, stifling a laugh as Owen reaches out towards her hand, and how she immediately made a move to grab one of his fingers. "She is like a little empress, isn't she?" It is then that I recalled a most extraordinary name in all the reading I'd done as a teenager, and, looking down at my daughter, I thought it was the most beautiful thing ever...

"Have you thought of one?" Owen asked in the lull.

I nodded. "I have, yes. I'd like to call her Alexandrine," I reply, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

"Queen Victoria's first name?" Owen guessed.

I nodded a second time. "Yes. I think her name should be Alexandrine Victoria Torrance," I say, and I note how touched Owen is that I've decided to give her his surname, despite us not being married yet.

"Not Beckett-Torrance?" he asked.

I shake my head. "Doesn't flow off the tongue as nicely as I'd like," I reply. "I think that Alexandrine Victoria Torrance is just fine."

"Shall we give her a nickname?"

I nod. "Certainly not Drina," I reply, shaking my head. "Sandrine sounds lovely, in my book. Of course, it's merely lopping off the first part of the name, however, it still shows off the beauty of it, don't you think?"

"Beautiful," Owen proclaims. "We'll tell the nurses immediately," he says, making sure that her swaddling blanket is tightly wrapped around her.

"You're going to be a wonderful father," I tell him affectionately.

We managed to return home within a day and I could tell that Alexandrine and Cosmo hit it off almost immediately. He was constantly singing to her various show tunes which made me laugh, although he really was quite good. He also loved Cher and Madonna, and he and I would do duets to entertain the baby. It was all a wonderful experience to be had.

I was taking the summer off, while Owen was working as a janitor in a hospital to get the feel of the whole work environment there. It was nice to have an extra thousand dollars or so to play with, although my mother was able to get us all the basic necessities for babies.

I was quite shocked when she came to see me about two weeks after Alexandrine was born. I'd given Cosmo the day off and Owen was at work, so I was having a quiet day with my daughter. I greeted her at the door with a hug and was pleased to see she had brought yet another stuffed toy for Alexandrine, who was in her bouncy chair in the living room. My mother immediately approached her and picked her up, and, although initially fussy, Alexandrine settled after a moment in my mother's arms.

"She's certainly put on a good amount of weight," my mother said in a rather conversational tone before perching on the couch.

"Yes, she has," I reply proudly.

"Feeding her regularly?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah—the pump is working great. She takes the bottle like a champ at feeding times and I only have to do it two or three times a week. The pumping, that is," I say.

My mother smiles. "Well, certainly easier now due to your intake of all the necessary prenatal vitamins," she puts in.

I nod. "Yes," I say quietly. "Did you take the day off or something?" I ask in a quiet tone. "Or is something wrong?"

She smiles again at me, although her tone is a trifle impatient, almost as if she hates being questioned at all. "Can't a woman come over to see her daughter and granddaughter without getting the third degree?"

"Of course... You leave Carisi in charge?"

She nods. "I haven't gotten the test results on making captain yet. I'm afraid that the department will think I haven't been a lieutenant for a long enough period in order to make the change."

"I'm rooting for you," I say quietly.

She sighs. "Okay... I do have a reason for coming..."

I straighten up. "If you're here to deliver a message from Chelsea about wanting to see the baby, the answer is still no. Owen and I seem to argue about it once every day, and it's enough now."

My mother shakes her head. "I understand your reasoning, darling," she assures me in a patient voice. "Of course that's not why I'm here."

"Okay," I reply, "then, why are you? Here, I mean."

"I just wonder how ready you and Owen are for all of this," she replies. "I mean, I know it would take a while for your father to warm up to the idea..."

I shake my head. "What are you saying?"

She sighs. "Well, all I'm saying is that maybe you two jumped the gun a bit on this one," she says softly. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if your father and I took Alexandrine and then you and Owen could focus on your studies and not have to worry about parental responsibility..."

I am tempted to yank my daughter away from her. "I know this wasn't Dad's idea," I shoot at her. "Who's was it?"

She looks away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was Chelsea's," I reply, my blood running cold from the moment my sister's name left my lips. "She's trying to make it seem like Owen and I are unfit so that she can take the baby and raise it herself, isn't she?" I demand, my voice not rising above a whisper. "Isn't she?!" I cry out, thankful that I don't disturb Alexandrine, who is, by now, half-asleep in my mother's arms.

"Yes," she admits.

"Don't try to keep secrets from me," I tell her, my voice ripping from in between my teeth as I manage to take Alexandrine from her and place her gently back into her bouncy chair. "God knows that you couldn't keep your biggest one long enough for me to move out..."

At once, her eyes snap to mine. "What are you insinuating?!" she demands, her eyes full of fear.

I lock my eyes to hers. "I know about Fin," I reply. "I know everything. Owen and I were in the guest house on the day that you told Carisi that Fin was really his and not Dad's. How could you lie about that?" I demand. "How could you lie to your firstborn son about that? How could you keep that from Dad? Does Dad even know that you slept around while you were married?"

My mother reaches out and promptly slaps me across the face. The sound echoes off the walls of the expansive living room, but thankfully Alexandrine doesn't wake up. She is staring at me, her hand still raised, almost as if she is fully prepared to hit me again, should I say something else out of line.

"You need to leave," I say, and, to show her that I mean it, get to my feet. I block her from attempting to say goodbye to Alexandrine, and she merely walks over to the front door. She steps outside, and is gone.

"I had a visit from my mother earlier this afternoon," I say to Owen as I watch him changing for bed.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair before coming over to the bed. "What did she have to say?" he asks, giving Alexandrine a kiss before getting into bed.

"She mentioned Chelsea," I mutter, reaching into the mini fridge beside our bed and retrieving a bottle, before Owen hands over our daughter to be fed.

He perks up. "Have you changed your mind?" he asks.

I cock an eyebrow. "About?"

He sighs. "Letting Chelsea see the baby."

Immediately, I feel myself go ridged, and Alexandrine stops feeding, and proceeds to fuss a bit. I manage to get her eating again before looking up at Owen. "No, I haven't changed my mind," I reply in a short, clipped tone. "She may be your sister, Owen, but I'll never acknowledge her as mine. She stole thousands of dollars from me—extortion, which is punishable by law. She could have done twenty years in prison for what she did to me, Owen."

"I can get her to pay you back, Leia," he said patiently.

I shake my head at him. "It isn't about the money, Owen," I reply, desperately wanting him to see reason. "It's about the fact that I need to keep my baby safe from her selfish needs. Chelsea can't just waltz in here like nothing ever happened and demand to be Alexandrine's aunt and all that that entails. What she did was wrong, and I don't trust her."

"So, you don't want her anywhere near Alexandrine?"

I nod at him. "You'd be right," I reply. "I loathe her, Owen. I'm sorry, but it's true, one-hundred-percent. I don't want her anywhere near my baby."

He nods, unsure. "And what if I wanted her near the baby?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Then we're out of your lives with a snap," I reply. "I go to court and get full custody, and you're out of the penthouse, buddy boy. I'd never say that you're not allowed to see Chelsea—you guys are twins, and you've got a bond that I'll never understand. But I'm not going to trust Chelsea anytime soon, Owen, not now, not ever. Until you understand that..."

"I understand it, Leia."

I sigh. "Good," I reply. "Because I would hate to find out what would happen should Chelsea grow jealous..."

"What?"

I bite my lip. "I'm afraid she'd take her away," I reply.

"Alexandrine?"

I nod. "Yes. My mother said that Chelsea was setting a plan in motion—not in so many words of course, but when I figured out the parameters Chelsea was putting in place, my mother confessed."

"What plan?" Owen demands.

I sigh. "Well, Chelsea plans on maneuvering things so that my parents get custody of Alexandrine," I reply patiently, wrapping up her late-night feed. "She will then take custody, once we are proved unfit to raise her ourselves, and keep her away from the both of us. Although I'm sure she'd find a way to merely label me as the unfit one, thereby allowing you to visit Alexandrine..."

"Chelsea has children, you know."

Immediately my eyes snap to his as he begins putting Alexandrine in her frilly, antique bassinet. "What are you talking about?"

"Chelsea's got PTSD," Owen explained patiently, getting into bed beside me. "I mean... Our biological father, he abused us pretty bad. He'd beat us, and he had a whole ring of teenaged prostitutes."

"Chelsea?" I ask him.

"Chelsea was really young when she became the star of the enterprise," Owen tells me gently. "That is, before our sister left the organization. She was older than we were, and she finally left because she couldn't take the whole sex for pay. Of course I understand where she was coming from—it's a degrading business, Leia, one you couldn't begin to understand unless you're part of it."

"Were you part of it?" I ask gently.

He nods. "I was, starting from when I was around thirteen or so. My father was against anything remotely homosexual, yet if the right guy paid enough for me, he would look the other way to make a quick buck."

"And Chelsea?" I ask.

"Her kids were taken by social services," he replies, detached. "They were placed with families who successfully petitioned to adopt them. The records were sealed and the adoptions were closed. However, when the kids turn eighteen and want to meet Chelsea—that's it. Other than that, Chelsea can't meet them."

"You think that's why?" I ask Owen. "You think that's why Chelsea may want to get her hands on Alexandrine?"

"It could be," he allows.

I turn and stare at my little girl through the darkness of our bedroom. "You're not going anywhere," I whisper to her. "You're _our_ little girl. If anyone tries to take you away, I'll kill them."


	3. Paradox and Deception

Chapter Three: Paradox and Deception

Summers always seemed to hold a whirlwind of endless possibilities that Owen and I were never fully prepared for. It was in August during an inexpensive trip to the coast on Martha's Vineyard that Owen asked me to be his wife and I accepted immediately. We decided it would just be us and Alexandrine and we decided to do it there. The engagement ring would act doubly as my wedding ring, and we managed to find a beautiful platinum ring for Owen in a seaside antique shop. We too managed to find a decent justice of the peace—a lovely woman named Cynthia Carrow—who married us right on the beach. Cynthia's sister, Carol, was our witness and held Alexandrine during the whole of the ceremony, as our little girl took to her rather quickly.

I informed our small group of friends and associates upon our return to TriBeCa that I was now Leia Torrance, and wanted each and every little thing in my life to reflect that. I knew that everyone at school would eventually get word to Chelsea somehow, who would likely run to our parents soon thereafter. It didn't matter to me; I'd married the man I loved, we'd had a child together, and I was on the fast-track to figuring out what I wanted my degree to be. I knew full well that nothing would be easy, but I was fully prepared for the possibilities that I knew would lie ahead of Owen, Alexandrine, and I.

September dawned and I realized I would depend upon Cosmo for longer days, as I was due to start my sophomore year of college on the last Monday of that month. It would also come with a pay raise to thirty dollars an hour, which I was fully prepared to pay; given that we did not have to pay rent on the penthouse, it certainly made things easier. The only thing I was looking forward to was the notion that I would obtain my first college degree come June. Owen had gotten his just after Alexandrine's birth, and we all knew that the countdown to him getting his bachelor's degree was in full-swing.

Alexandrine's first Halloween was a rousing success; at four months old, she got the award for cutest baby—at least, in our book. We painted her nose black, and painted on a trio of whiskers on each side. Then, we found some black, fuzzy kitty ears in her size, and managed to find a black cat suit for babies as well. Carrying her around the neighborhood, we felt delighted to be a part of a normal family holiday tradition. As November dawned, we took Alexandrine to her five-month check-up; or, rather, I did with Cosmo, as Owen had a test for that day, while I had the day off.

Cosmo and I sat in the sterile environment of the waiting room, Cosmo drooling over the latest edition of _Men's Health_ while I kept a tight hold on Alexandrine. He was gazing at Channing Tatum, who was marketing the seventeenth _Magic Mike_ film, and still looked good, despite his age. Apparently, he finds out he has an illegitimate son in the latest epic, called Michael Lane, Jr., who wanted to break into his father's world of stripping. and how Channing's character was morally against that. I guessed hypocritical behavior truly existed all over the map, I saw that now...

"You couldn't be more obvious right now," I say, traces of laughter licking at my tone as I tried not to lose it completely.

"Hmmm?" Cosmo asked, turning to look at me.

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure some people in this room will think that I'm an idiot for not realizing that my husband is gay," I point out.

Cosmo stifles a laugh at my comment. "Sweetie, come on. I've got platinum-blonde highlights with my too-dark-for-words brown hair, a French manicure, and I'm wearing open-toed sandals in November. If that doesn't scream flaming, I don't know what does." He leans closer to me. "However, if I was a man, I'd snatch you right up, no question."

"Hardy har-har," I grumble back. "I have permanent dark circles under my eyes from tending to this one," I say, indicating Alexandrine, "as well as attempting to remember rudimentary English whilst writing papers for school. My hair is _always_ a mess because I can't manage to find a deep conditioner marked, 'New Mother', and—to top it all off—I'm wearing a bra designed for retirement home-aged women in the 1950s because of its thickness and ability to keep my breasts from leaking uncontrollably."

"All the more reason," Cosmo replies. "You're a real woman—and the honesty is just a delicious garnish."

I roll my eyes. "Not many people would agree with you on that one," I reply as the door leading back to the offices opens.

A nurse stands on the threshold, looking around for a moment. "Mrs. Torrance and Alexandrina?" she asks, reading from her clipboard.

I get to my feet, Cosmo following. "That's us," I reply.

"You must be Cosmo, the manny," the nurse, whose nametag reads Minnie, says with a quick, kind smile. "Come on back, all of you."

I turn to Cosmo and raise my eyebrows before we walk back past many offices and exam rooms and finally we reach room 110. We are led inside by Minnie, who tells me to sit while she briefly examines Alexandrine. She takes her temperature, blood pressure, and makes her laugh before nodding to herself and taking down some quick notes, which will go into Alexandrine's permanent file.

"Well, I'll let Dr. Chang look over these and he should be back within ten minutes," she informs us with a quick smile before leaving.

"Okay, what's going on here?" I ask. "Have you been frequenting the hospital outside of taking Alexandrine here once in September?"

Cosmo sighs. "No, it's... More than that," he admits.

"Uh-huh," I reply, unconvinced. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Well..." Cosmo begins, but the door opens.

"So lovely to see you all again," said her pediatrician, Dr. Ethan Chang, as he stepped into the room, his black silky hair pulled back into a ponytail, and his white lab coat pristine.

"That wasn't ten minutes," Cosmo mutters.

"How is Alexandrine?" Dr. Chang asks, and Alexandrine immediately looks at ease in his presence.

"She's fine, thank you," I reply, handing her over.

Dr. Chang looked over her, all the while continuing to peek up at Cosmo. "Good to see you again, Cosmo," he said softly.

Cosmo blushed. "You, too," he replied.

"She's a bit overdue for her four-month vaccinations," Dr. Chang observed a moment later, "but she should be fine if we take care of those today."

"Do you need me to be with her?" I ask, attempting to get up.

He shakes his head. "We generally ask that parents remain here in the room for sterilization purposes," Dr. Chang replies. "Don't worry—it's only four shots and my nurses are very quick. We should be back in less than five minutes."

I bite my lip. "Okay," I say as Alexandrine is whisked away from me. Almost immediately after the door swings shut behind me, I turn back to Cosmo, in full-on interrogation mode. "Okay, what's going on?" I ask him. "You and Dr. Chang are usually so chummy. Today, you were all awkward..."

Cosmo sighs. "Remember I told you that I started seeing someone while you and Owen were off at Martha's Vineyard?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, of course I remember. It was in between the texts of devastation when you found out we got married without you."

"I've known Dr. Chang for a while," he replies. "We met at this club last spring and we hit it off. We initially knew each other through mutual friends but started hanging out solo. Things changed in August after you left for Martha's Vineyard with Owen and Alexandrine..."

"Did they now?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. "How's that?"

Cosmo ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah...they began to heat up, so to speak," he replied. "It heated up originally when we kissed..."

"Mmm!" I cried, clapping my hands. "That's exciting!"

"Oh, please, you are too cute," Cosmo says, trying not to laugh. "You're eighteen years old, so of course you think that's funny..."

"Nineteen in a few weeks," I remind him patiently, leaning forward and putting my head into my hands. "God, I seriously hope that Owen doesn't try to put some big thing together..."

"Why?" Cosmo laughs. "I could make some calls—get you a DJ, and get us some high-quality food..."

I shake my head. "No, it's fine," I assure him.

"But why not?"

"Well, for one thing, the one family we've got is mine..." I lift up my head then and peer at him. "Did Owen explain our situation?"

"Not in so many words," Cosmo replies, "but he did happen to mention how your relationship was initially seen as controversial."

"Well, I suppose you should know the full extent of it," I reply. "I mean...I've told you what my parents do..."

"Yeah, your dad's the Manhattan District Attorney and your mom is Captain of Manhattan SVU," Cosmo replies.

"Yeah, she worked hard for that promotion and got it almost a year ago," I reply softly. "Since they were in those jobs, they were really compassionate with kids and other young people who needed help...including me."

"Including you?" Cosmo asks. "I don't understand."

"I was adopted by them when I was five," I reply. "My biological mother was my father's younger half-sister. She died when I was little," I say softly, automatically bringing one of my legs to my chest. "My bio mom was one of the best dentists New York had ever seen. She was a lesbian, and she wanted a child so badly—she was really mature for her age, so she got inseminated when she was in her early twenties. She had me, and she was on the top of her game—made her first billion while I was still in utero, and that's when the practice really took off..."

"What happened to her?" Cosmo asked.

"Uh, when Mom and Dad were on their honeymoon—long cruise type thing with a tour of Europe at the end of it—they got word that my... That Henrietta was hit by a car and killed. It was ruled a manslaughter—the guy was high as a kite on heroin and was mixing it with a cocktail of prescription drugs and alcohol. Mom and Dad got him a hard decade in Rikers, but I hardly remember any of it."

"That's a good thing, right?" Cosmo asks.

I nod. "Of course—I wouldn't want to remember any of it," I tell him. "I just moved in with them right away to the penthouse we live in now—then we moved to their big house shortly thereafter. They adopted me within a year, and then they had my little sister, Felicity. Then my mom had a one-night stand with this other guy in her unit—he's actually her second-in-command now—and they had a son together, my brother, Fin. And then there's my youngest sibling, Hunter, named after my grandfather—my last grandparent."

"Got a good relationship with him?" I nod. "Sure, I guess. I'm the only grandchild that's doubly not related to him—my mom was adopted into her family, too. Except she was in the system for a bit, and I never had to go through any of that," I say softly. "But when I was in my junior year of high school, I was dating my first serious boyfriend, Ulysses..."

"Wait, hold up," Cosmo says. "You're kidding me now, right?"

I shake my head. "Arts school," I reply as a means of an explanation. "Anyhow, it was after a football game at our school one night that Ulysses got really...handsy. I remember feeling very ill at ease, especially when he pretty much demanded that he and I have sex under the bleachers to make him feel better due to the loss of the game—he _always_ took it personally..."

"Bastard," Cosmo said immediately. "What'd you do?"

"Told him 'no', but that didn't do any good," I reply. "Luckily, Owen was still there and came to my rescue," I tell him. "Then, we got in my car—his twin sister, Chelsea, was already home—and tended to him. And then..."

"You had sex?" Cosmo guesses.

I nod. "Yeah. After that, we were inseparable—except in mixed company, that is. I mean, that was until Chelsea found out..."

"She blackmailed you?"

I nod again. "She did—several hundred dollars' worth, too," I say. "Deceitful bitch—I'll never get over that one. What most people don't understand is the fact that it wasn't about the money—it was never about the money."

"What was it about?"

I sigh. "My parents were fostering her and offered to adopt both her _and_ Owen," I tell him point blank. "But Owen and I were in love so he made up some lame excuse about not wanting to be adopted—friends in high places prevented that line of questioning in the courtroom when Chelsea was adopted. But Chelsea was indeed adopted without a hitch, and then she found out all about me and Owen sneaking around. She then successfully became my mother's favorite child all because of her sob stories—and I was sympathetic, for a while—but when I found out I was pregnant, I vowed to get out of there." I chuckle bitterly, leaning up against the wall. "I know full well that if any of my children ever resorted to blackmail against another, I'd hope to god they had a good reason for it, or else I'd throw them out. Luckily, they'd be over a certain age and then I wouldn't be fined for it or something..."

"And that's why you don't want Chelsea around Alexandrine?"

I nod at him. "Yeah, those are a couple of reasons why," I reply as Dr. Chang returns to the room with Alexandrine. "My baby," I say, immediately reaching out for her and feeling complete once she's handed back to me. "Is she all right? Did she behave herself?" I ask, soothing her and kissing her forehead.

Dr. Chang nods. "Yes, Alexandrine is very healthy—we got her weight as well and she's fifteen pounds. She's absolutely perfect."

"Is she all set to go?" I ask Dr. Chang.

"Yes," Dr. Chang tells me patiently, and shows me a piece of paper. "Is this insurance information we have for you still correct?"

Quickly, I look it over. "Yes, that's correct," I reply.

"Great," Dr. Chang says. "We'll give them a phone call with what went on at the appointment today, and we'll be in touch later this week or early next week on the deductible."

"Great," I say, wrapping Alexandrine in her jacket and getting to my feet. "I'm just going to change her real quick and I'll meet you by the main entrance for the walk back to the penthouse, okay, Cosmo?" I ask.

"Yeah, sure," Cosmo says, looking at Dr. Chang, totally absorbed.

"Should be fine," Dr. Chang tells me, his eyes locked on Cosmo.

"Great," I say again, walking out of the room. "You know, Alexandrine," I say softly to her as I make my way down the hall and towards the waiting room, "it looks like Uncle Cosmo has a thing for Dr. Chang. But we love Uncle Cosmo, and we like Dr. Chang very much, and if something develops between them, we're going to be very happy for them," I tell her quietly as I step out into the living room and towards the ladies' room.

"It's just that we hardly ever see you anymore," my mother said through the phone, and I found myself growing more and more annoyed by her constant pestering of me these last few years. "Come on. I mean, you just got your bachelor's degree and Owen's in his second year of his residency at the hospital. And besides, your little Alexandrine is getting older and older every day..."

"She's three now, thanks for asking," I say, defensiveness riddling my tone as I knew I'd go up to bat whenever for my little girl.

"I know that, love. It's just that your father and I haven't seen you since Cosmo and Ethan tied the knot—and that was six months ago."

"I know, but it's still easy, given that he still works for us," I reply. "He and Ethan live over in Chelsea. Although it's becoming difficult because Cosmo's busy getting a master's in interior design..."

"It's just that you'll be twenty-one in five months and I'm tired of missing all of these goals with you, sweetheart..."

"Mom, you know the whole topic with you about me going home for a visit is complicated," I tell her softly.

"Owen's not talking you out of it, is he?"

"Mom, god... No," I say, fighting to keep my voice in check as I push myself away from looking over my resume. Now that I'd graduated, I needed to decide if I wanted to keep acting, or actually do something with my new law degree... On the one hand, I'd never considered acting a job or a chore, and it would be a lot of fun, although there were no guarantees when it came to that line of work. And then there was the law, where I could be in my father's shadow for years to come, and then...

"All right, I was just making sure," she replies. "How is Owen?"

"He's great—he's been at the hospital for almost a year and a half and he absolutely adores it," I assure her. "The doctors love him and he thinks it'd be a good fit for him when he ultimately gets to be one of them..."

"Has he decided what kind of doctor he wants to be yet?"

"Yeah, he decided his on his one-year anniversary," I reply. "He wants to be a children's oncologist."

"And Alexandrine?" my mother asks, hope hidden at the back of her tone. "How is she doing?"

"She's in preschool fifteen hours a week," I reply. "Then Cosmo picks her up after he's done with his classes and hangs out with her until six. Then I have her for a couple of hours and then give her dinner, give her a bath, and put her to bed. We have a very involved schedule."

"And you?" she asks me. "What have you been up to since your graduation? How was it?" she wants to know.

I purse my lips, knowing she would never let go of the notion that I hadn't invited her to my graduation. When it came to Chelsea, she'd gotten her degree a year before I had, and now was in design school for another three years on top of that, yet it was better to know that I wouldn't be seeing her regularly any time soon. "I am just trying to keep myself in check," I tell her, pushing the sarcasm from my tone as I roll my shoulders. "I'm constantly updating my two resumes—my acting one and my law one. I just can't decide what to do..."

"Which one do you love the most?"

"That's not the right question I should be considering," I reply steadily. "I've got Alexandrine to think about now. I know it would kill Dad if I didn't become a lawyer, especially because I know he's not my biggest fan right now, and then he'd get even more angry..."

"Don't say that, sweetheart," my mother says quickly. "He just wants you to be happy—I promise."

"Yeah, well, thankfully it's not up to him," I mutter. "How are Felicity, Fin, and Hunter?" I ask her conversationally.

"Felicity is sixteen now," my mother says, sighing a little. "We took her to get her first car last weekend to celebrate the school year ending... She's so excited to arrive for junior year with a new vehicle..."

"And the boys?" I ask. "Fin and Hunter? Thirteen and ten," she replies breezily.

"All ready for the eighth and fifth grade?" I ask her.

She nods. "Of course," she replies.

"That's nice," I tell her.

"Listen, sweetheart, I just want you to know that your father and I don't condone what Chelsea put you through."

"Did you nullify her adoption then?" I ask, my voice a bit more cutting than I'd originally intended it to be.

"No," my mother says tensely after a moment. "In my line of work, we may just throw people in jail at the end of the day, but that's not how I want my family to work."

I get to my feet. "Oh, I see," I say. "I guess that means that solely because of her troubled background, Chelsea is automatically allowed to do whatever she wants, is that it?" I demand.

"I didn't call you to argue, sweetheart..."

"Then why did you call me at all?!" I demand, my voice breaking. "Did you call because you wanted me to grovel and beg forgiveness? Because I won't! I have no regrets whatsoever about my decision making, Mother! None!"

"I see," she says, never raising her voice. "Well, until or unless you want to talk about making peace with Chelsea, then I have nothing more to say to you, Leia Torrance."

"Point taken," I say, promptly hanging up on her.

I took up drinking the moment my mother and I cut ties that day. For exactly eight weeks, I littered the penthouse with varying bottles, which I hid successfully from Owen, for a while. Due to my acting training, I magnificently perfected a way not to sound drunk at all, and was able to mask the smell of the alcohol by varying perfumes or by having the penthouse cleaned. It was when Owen discovered all the bottles in the middle of August in some storage space in one of the spare rooms that my husband demanded to know what was going on. In all, he found over two hundred bottles of varying beer and wine that I'd managed to buy—or had people buy for me before my latest birthday.

The conscientious decision to go to rehab wasn't my own, but Owen's—although I did get on board with it when he told me to do it for Alexandrine. However, I soon came to the realization that I had to complete the treatment program for myself. I discussed varying issues in my therapy sessions, including one that I'd never even attempted to consider before: Who my birth father was. All I knew was the name of the clinic my mother had used—somewhere on the Upper East Side—and that, now that I was twenty-one, I was within my rights to contact him. The treatment program lasted thirty days, and I felt I got a lot accomplished as September dawned in New York. Stepping out of there, I took a cab across town, with thirty-one days sober underneath my belt, with a vow I'd made never to drink again, which I had the confidence to keep. I knew what I wanted out of life, and not only had I made the decision to find my birth father, but I'd also decided what I wanted to do with my degrees.

Cosmo had considerately offered to take Alexandrine that evening, after I'd spent a lengthy afternoon with her. Ethan was currently at some medical conference in Chicago and so I knew Cosmo would be glad for the company my three-year-old daughter brought him. After Cosmo took Alexandrine back to his luxury apartment in Chelsea that he shared with Ethan, I walked down the street to the grocery store and bought a few things to cook a wonderful meal for myself and for Owen. My parents had gotten us a few presents over the years—especially after they'd found out we'd gotten married without them—and one thing I'd been dying to use was our pasta maker.

I could make my own sauce—Mom had taught me that much—and we'd learned to use specific cooking utensils and machines whilst in rehab. I bought everything I needed to make spaghetti and meatballs, as well as a loaf of fresh garlic bread. I also bought some marionberry sorbet that Owen and I loved to finish the meal off, and a bag of salad. Returning to the penthouse, a text from Owen said that he'd be home at six-thirty, so I had plenty of time. It was just after two, so I decided to take a quick nap before starting dinner. Awakening by four, I went into the kitchen and whipped up dinner, before setting the cooked pasta aside, and the sauce to simmer while I ran upstairs to take a shower.

There was a vase of freshly-cut calla lilies upon the dining room table, and their smell hit my nose when I entered the vicinity again. I tied my apron around my little black dress, careful not to stumble around the kitchen in my scarlet heels. As I heard the key turn in the lock, I'd just finished preparing the table; the pasta and meatballs were in a fine ceramic bowl; the bread was sliced a couple of times and on a wood plank with a knife; the salad was in an additional bowl; and plates with napkins and silverware were placed accordingly, just as I was lighting the candles and dimming the lights.

Owen walked in, his eyebrows raised, taking in the scent of his dinner. "Leia?" he asked, and I turned around, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey, Owen," I say, feeling happy for the first time in a month—well, with the exception of seeing Alexandrine earlier that day.

"Where's Alexandrine?" he asked, setting his satchel down.

"Cosmo has her for the night," I reply, stepping forward. "Ethan's at this medical conference in Chicago—he was glad for the company."

Owen reaches out and pulls me to him, and I feel a slight squeal escaping my body as I feel him lengthwise against me. "So, we're alone?"

"Yes," I reply, my heart in my throat.

He nods. "Good," he replies, leaning down to kiss me.

"I won't have my dinner going to waist, Mr. Torrance," I say, pulling out of his embrace and pulling him towards the head of the table. "You'll just have to eat dinner first...then some sorbet...and then some dessert..."

"Promise?" he asks, sitting begrudgingly down at the table, his roving hands never leaving my hips.

"Promise," I assure him, sitting across from him. "We learned how to make pasta at the...place," I say, forcing a smile. "Have you ever had it this way before? I looked up a few tutorials on YouTube..."

"Never," Owen tells me, eagerness appearing in his eyes when he catches sight of the meatballs.

"Go ahead—have some," I say, nodding at the bowl. Once we've both finished serving ourselves, I let a comfortable silence envelope the room, the only sound of our forks scraping against our plates or the occasional sip of a drink. "So, listen, I need to talk to you about a few things..."

"Yeah?" Owen asks, taking another bite before looking up. "Like what?"

I sigh. "It's kind of serious..."

"Do you want to break up?" he asks.

"No!" I cry out, suddenly, too quickly. "Why? Did you meet another resident to replace me?"

Owen laughs. "Never," he assures me, reaching across the table and taking my hand firmly. "Now, tell me what's on your mind."

I sigh a second time. "Well, I did a lot of thinking while in...rehab," I say, forcing myself to say the word out loud. "And I made a decision."

"Do you want to have another baby?" he asks.

"I...um... Eventually, we can discuss that," I say quietly. "But we're both still really young... I'd rather wait until you've been a doctor a few years and I'm working, too, before we decide that..."

Owen nods. "I agree," he replies.

I smile at him. "Good. So, I want to know how you would feel about me potentially seeking out my birth father."

"Your mom...Henrietta... She was inseminated, right?"

I nod. "That's right."

"How would that work? You finding him?"

"Well, I have the name of the agency that hooked her up with the sperm, so to speak, and I'd give them a call," I reply. "I'd ask for contact information on the sample number, which I have, and then I would wait and see if Number 01487 wants to have any contact with me."

"Do you hope he does?"

"Of course," I reply. "My therapist informed me that such a resolution would prove to be beneficial towards my treatment."

"I think it's great," Owen says, smiling across the table at me. "I just don't want you to be disappointed, if for some reason he doesn't want to talk to you. But I am going to be here for you every step of the way."

"Thank you," I reply.

"And the other decision?" he asks.

I sigh. "Well, I've decided to take the bar exam," I reply. "I mean, I know that acting was a fun world to be a part of and everything, but I know that Alexandrine absolutely needs to come first. If I become a lawyer, then I can provide a good amount of stability, along with your eventual salary. So, if I manage to pass the bar, then we'll be moving on up."

Owen smiles at me. "And you're sure this is what you want?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure of anything anymore," I confess.

I studied endlessly for the next two weeks, as I would have to wait for the results in May instead of November if I waited much longer to take it. Two and a half weeks later, after studying my ass off, I was officially ready. I went to the testing center for my first day of testing. I was in the exam room, taking the two-hundred question exam, for over two hours, but finally finished the dreaded piece of paperwork before making sure my name was spelled correctly. I handed it in and got the hell out of there. The second day, I wrote an essay about the argument about whether or not the practice of capital punishment should be returned to the State of New York before scrawling down my final thoughts.

And then there was nothing to do but to wait. In the meantime, Owen was still doing well in his residency program and was growing to love it more and more every single day. We took Alexandrine out trick-or-treating and, now that she was walking and talking, she was a walking and talking princess. She enjoyed watching the other children running around, but Owen and I were able to tell her to stay with us at all times. She was a very good girl, and only some of the time did she get out of hand, but was always quite apologetic afterwards.

November began and I began counting down the days until my twenty-first birthday, and crossed my fingers that my bar exam results would come through as promptly as possible. I took Alexandrine to the park on my twenty-first birthday—thankfully she was off from preschool that day—and we got onto the swings together, me keeping a good grip on her. I pressed my cheek to hers, feeling utterly at peace with the world and how things were going.

"Do you know what day it is today?" I asked her softly.

"No," she replied, turning to look up at me. "What day?"

I smile down at her. "Today is Mommy's birthday," I tell her. "Today, Mommy is twenty-one-years-old."

"What do you want for your birthday, Mommy? A doggy?"

I laugh at her. "Mommy and Daddy have discussed getting a doggy, but we both know you want one, huh, Sandrine?"

She nods. "Yes. I want a doggy."

"Well, we'll discuss it further," I reply. "You see, sweetheart, doggies are a lot of responsibility. You know that, don't you?"

She nods. "Yes, Mommy. I know."

"Sandrine!" shrieks a child's voice, and we look up.

"Mommy, Mommy, it's Karissa and her mommy!" Alexandrine cries.

I smile at Karissa's mother, Katherine, who waves us over. I lift up Alexandrine before setting her on the ground, where she knows to wait. I take her by the hand and walk over to them and smile. "Good to see you," I say.

"Likewise," Katherine says, and we hug. "How are you doing?" she asks with an understanding look—she was the only mother at Alexandrine's preschool who knew about my stint in rehab.

"Fine, thanks—much better," I assure her. "Four months today."

"Congratulations," Katherine says.

"Mommy, may I go and play with Karissa, please?" Alexandrine asks me politely when appropriate.

I nod. "Of course, darling," I reply. "Just remember to be careful and make sure you're where I or Miss Katherine can see you."

"Yes, Mommy!" Alexandrine calls, already running to the play structure with Karissa in her wake.

"Come on, let's sit," Katherine says, and we make our way over towards a bench and sit down, facing the play structure. "How's Owen enjoying the residency at the hospital?" she asks.

"He's loving it," I reply. "He's popular with everyone, and he's enjoying the work and learning so much," I reply. "He'll be over halfway done come January. We're all very proud."

"And you? You're well?"

I smile. "Actually, in all honesty, it's good to be here—it's so nice to breathe. I find that, as a mom, I forget how to do that sometimes."

Katherine laughs. "I hear you," she replies. "When I had Alyssa, I was sixteen-years-old, and I had no idea what I was going to do."

"You'll think I'm impertinent, but I always thought..."

"You thought that Alyssa was adopted?" Katherine asks, smiling. "No need to beat yourself up—when I was younger, my mom tried to raise her for me, but Alyssa found out pretty quickly that I was her mother."

"How did you deal with it?" I ask her.

"Well, my husband was my boyfriend at the time, and you know as well as I do how successful he is," she replies. "Arthur West came from old money, and for some crazy reason, he picked me. He was eighteen, but I was seventeen just a few days after Alyssa was born, so thankfully the law never caught up to us. I managed to get emancipated after living under my mother's thumb for six months and Arthur and I got married that same day. His family welcomed me with open arms —they always wanted a large family but couldn't have another child after Arthur for some reason. Then when Arthur was twenty-one, his dad had a heart attack, and Arthur took over his phone company. And here we are today..."

"How old is Alyssa now?" I ask her.

"She's ten," Katherine replies. "Why?"

"Owen brought up having another baby the day I got back from rehab," I reply. "It was bad timing, sure, but I was sending him mixed messages about telling him things I figured out while there..."

"May I ask what?" Katherine asks me.

I nod. "Oh, of course. I want to figure out who my birth father is, for one thing. My biological mother was a billionaire by the time she was in her early twenties, and she was a lesbian, so she wanted a child to fill a void in her life, I guess. And there I was, a child she'd created with science..."

"Did child services take you away for a homophobic reason?" Katherine asks, a decent amount of concern in her voice.

"No," I reply. "My mother died when I was five. She was hit by a car and she was killed instantly. I was at school when it happened. My parents were on their honeymoon at the time—my adopted father was my mother's older half-brother. I later found out that I had another uncle, but he was single and didn't want a family, so there you go."

"Talk to your parents much?" Katherine asks.

I shake my head. "Not so much now. They wanted to adopt a pair of fraternal twins when I was in high school, and that was the beginning of the end."

"How so?"

"Well, because Owen was the boy twin," I reply.

Katherine raises her eyebrows. "Oh. I see."

I nod. "Yeah—the adoption didn't go through on him. He flat-out refused to be adopted because we were in love."

"Did you tell your parents that?" Katherine wants to know.

I shake my head at her. "God, no—they could've lost their fostering license and credibility to adopt Owen's twin sister, Chelsea. It was Chelsea who found out about all of this; she blackmailed me for hundreds of dollars to keep quiet. It was probably because she lived so hand-to-mouth before CPS got her..."

"I'm so sorry," Katherine says, putting her arm around me and squeezing my shoulder.

"It got worse when I found out I was pregnant," I confess. "She upped the ante and doubled her money..."

"What a bitch," Katherine tells me.

I smile ruefully at her. "Happy birthday to me, right?"

"It's your birthday?" she asks. "Which one?"

"Twenty-first," I reply.

"Happy birthday," she tells me.

It is then that my phone buzzes and I check it. "Oh, an email," I say.

"Go ahead," Katherine says, looking up and keeping an eye on our girls while I call up my email app.

The subject line read, _MBE Test Scores_ , and the sender's name was _New York National Bar Association_. Quickly, I called up the email, my heart pounding a mile a minute.

 _Dear Leia Torrance,_

 _Congratulations, we are pleased to inform you that you've successfully passed the New York State MBE Exam. Your score was a 188. You should feel very proud, and a representative will be in touch with you within a few weeks to discuss your options going forward._

 _Once again, congratulations._

 _Sincerely,_

 _The National Bar Association of New York_

"Anything urgent?" Katherine asks as I put my phone away.

"I passed my bar exam!" I cry out. My phone immediately buzzes again, and I am perplexed to see my mother's number showing up on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I force myself to keep a neutral tone as I pick up. "Hello, Mother."

"Hey, Leia. Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Listen, I didn't call to make small talk—this is serious."

"Can you hold on a minute, please?" I ask, covering the bottom of my phone and turning to Katherine. "It's my mom—I think it's a family emergency. Do you mind if I step away for a few moments?"

"I'll watch the girls—go ahead," Katherine assures me.

"Thanks," I reply, getting to my feet and walking a few feet away. "Mom? Sorry, I'm at the playground, it's a little loud..."

"Can you hear me?" she asks.

"Yeah, I can hear you," I assure her.

"I heard you were trying to track down your birth father..."

"Mom, if Dad's upset that I am..."

"That's not it, sweetheart... Your father and I kept a secret from you for a long time and you're finally twenty-one, so you can know it now."

"A secret? What secret? What aren't you telling me?"

"Listen, sweetheart, you were a little girl—five-years-old—and you wouldn't have been able to understand certain things," my mother tells me patiently. "It was done for your own good..."

"What was done for my own good? Mom? What was...?"

"Are you at Washington Market Park?" she asks.

My blood runs cold. "Yes. I take Alexandrine here all the time—even you would know that information. Why?"

"Happy birthday," says a voice from behind me.

Turning around, my jaw drops then when I see Henrietta standing directly behind me in that moment. She would be forty-three now, yet she looks as if she could be in her thirties; she's aged remarkably well. She has the flowing hair that I inherited and her eyes are on point. She smiles at me, and reaches out to take my hand and, blinded by tears, I take it.

"Mom... Edythe, what's happening?" I ask, realizing that I hadn't ever taken the phone from my ear. "Mom... Mom, they said you were..."

She nods. "Yes, they were right to say I was dead."

"Why?" I demand. "Why did you leave me...?"

She shakes her head. "I wasn't dead, Leia," she tells me, tucking a bit of my hair behind my ear, as most of it is covered by a winter cap.

"Where were you, then?" I demand, tears coursing down my cheeks. "All I wanted was my mother and you were just...gone."

She sighs. "I'll tell you everything," she assures me.

"First—where were you?" I demand again.

"She was in prison, sweetheart," I hear from behind me and, when I turn around, I see my adopted mother standing behind me.


	4. Trial and Error

Chapter Four: Trial and Error

"I don't understand any of this!" I said, pacing back and forth. We'd managed to get back to the penthouse in one piece, after making the necessary apologies to Katherine and Karissa at the park. I'd immediately put Alexandrine down for her nap after Henrietta had met her properly, yet now, even as I attempted to distract myself with the impressive skyline outside the living room window, I found myself an empty shell. "What could you have gone to prison for, Henrietta?" I cried out, and turned to face her, immediately feeling guilty when she winced at the sound of me calling her by her first name.

"Extortion," she said softly, perching on one end of the modern couch, while my mother took the other. "I was charging so much for patients, and for about five years it didn't catch up to me. However, I upped the prices drastically, and it got to the point where everyone was onto me, especially after I neglected to pay my taxes as well as lying on some insurance forms..."

"So, you've been locked up all this time?" I ask her.

She nods. "I have," she replies.

"And you just let them adopt me?" I cry out, the resentment and betrayal I felt now bubbling to the surface. "Without even telling me about any of it?"

"You were five-years-old, Leia," Henrietta says, getting to her feet and attempting to stop me from walking away from her. "Edythe and I decided it best to wait until you were older to discuss all this with you."

"Eighteen is usually a good time to do that," I reply, my voice cutting into the both of them like a knife. "Why wasn't I told then?"

"We tried to tell you, sweetheart," my mother replies softly, crossing the room towards us. "Remember? I said it was pertinent for your father and I to come over to the apartment you had with Owen..."

"But instead we ended up discussing Chelsea and my pregnancy," I say, breaking away from the both of them and practically falling into a sitting position on the couch behind me.

"Sweetheart, you couldn't have known..."

"Stop," I reply, my voice numb.

Henrietta sighs. "Darling, I just want you to understand that..."

I raise my eyes to hers, feeling how cold and icy they've truly become. "Don't," I say, my voice firm.

"Leia," my mother says, moving to sit beside me and attempting to take my cold, unfeeling hand. "I know you must be in shock..."

"No," I say, pulling my hand away from hers. "I don't want either of you to even try to rationalize this."

"What do you want us to do?" Henrietta asks.

"That's right," my mother replies. "Just say the word, and we'll do it."

I feel my hands shaking momentarily before drawing my fingers into my palms, thus creating fists. "I want the two of you to leave."

"Darling, I really think..." Henrietta begins.

I focus on a part of the slate gray wall opposite me, and force my voice to become as dead as a fish. "Get out," I say, and, mercifully, the pair of them leave instantly thereafter.

I get to my feet, wandering into the kitchen, where I see there is a cupcake with my name on it. Stepping forward, there is a quick love note from Owen, telling me he'll be home at six and how excited he is to celebrate with me later. Beside the cupcake is an automatic lighter, in case I want to light the pink, swirled candle, pressed into the cracked surface of the icing. Picking up the lighter, I light the candle and shut my eyes for a moment before a worthy wish comes to mind. I open my eyes again, forming an 'O' with my lips as I pout them outwards, thus blowing out the candle, the smoke curling upwards like long, tapered fingers and making its way to the ceiling.

"Happy birthday, Leia Torrance," I say quietly to myself.

"I know it's dangerous and probably thoughtless of me, given my good score on the bar exam, but it's in my blood. Can't you see that?"

"Of course I can see that, Leia," Owen says, shaking his head at me. "It's the logic behind it that I don't get..."

I sigh. "All I know is that I'm not cut out to be a lawyer," I reply. "I had to shadow my dad for god's sake, and half the time he was yelling about a coffee order and the other half he was telling me my skirt was too short. I read the uniform section of the shadowing pamphlet, Owen—to the knees or below! My skirt was _at_ the knee, not _above_ the knee, _at_ the knee. And the whole time, my father—or uncle, now that everything's really out in the open—made me feel like a slut! I can't work under those conditions!"

"You know, every firm won't be like that..."

"No." I shake my head. "I took the physical aspect of the whole big test they have you take to get in—I passed. I took the psychological exam as well—I passed. I took the IQ test mandated by the government—I passed. Now all I have to do is to pass the twenty-week training course."

Owen takes me gently by the shoulders, concern in his deep blue eyes. "And you're absolutely sure?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes. I did the math and it's around seven thousand for the tuition and ammunition... I have some money set aside. We'll be fine."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Henrietta, does it?"

I smooth his collar ever so slightly. "What gives you that idea?"

"Well, you and I both have gun permits—we keep them locked in the safe in case Alexandrine wants to go exploring. If you just want a trip to the shooting range, I'll take you on my next day off..."

I reach up and cover his lips with my hand. "This has nothing to do with the fact that my biological mother is alive," I reply. "Like I said, it's in my blood. And I'll also have the satisfaction of arresting Chelsea if she ever decides to get out of line with me again."

Owen nips at my fingers, forcing me to withdraw them. "Well, I just hope it's not a rash decision," he replies. "Remember, all I want is for you to be happy."

I smile up at him, standing on my toes to kiss him. "Thank you—that means a lot to me, Owen, it really does."

"When do you start?" he asks.

"First thing Monday," I reply.

I find my mind going backwards, back before I'd been adopted by Lincoln and Edythe, so long ago. I remember one night when they got home on the late side, but I was so happy to see them all that I ran down the stairs to meet them. Next, I immediately jumps into Edythe's arms and told her that I needed to go shopping as soon as possible.

"What you need is to take a bath," Edythe said, gently reprimanding my supposed impertinence at the subject.

"But I need a dress and cards!" I proclaimed.

Edythe raised her eyebrows at the declaration, before leaning down and kissing me on the forehead. "Is that right?" she asked. "Why is that?"

"My birthday!" I cried, triumphantly.

"That's right, sweetie," she replied, taking me upstairs and beginning to run my typical evening bubble bath. "I'll tell you what—I have some time off work this week. How about if after school one day this week, you and I go out for some lunch and then we'll get you a new dress and everything you need for your extra-special, super-duper, fifth birthday party?"

I squealed and threw my arms around her. "Yay!" I cried.

Edythe laughed. "Well, now that that's settled, we have something else to figure out," she tells me as I begin taking off my clothes to get into the bath.

"What's that?" I ask, handing her my dark pink sweater.

"Well," Edythe says, helping me with my tights, "we need to figure out just what kind of birthday party you want."

"I want a princess party!" I proclaim immediately. "I want the boys to be princes and the girls to be princesses!"

"Leia, sweetie, remember how Uncle Lincoln and I explained to you about Thompson's living situation?"

I nod. "Yes, Thompson is gay," I reply, proudly. "He has a husband—like you have in Uncle Lincoln. And you said that there's nothing wrong with it."

She nodded. "That's right. I mean, you've seen them together when we have little parties with all our friends."

I sighed. "Yes... Mommy liked Thompson..."

"Yes. Yes, she did. But you've seen Thompson with his husband, honey—how did it make you feel?"

"A little weird, at first," I confessed, not wanting to say anything hurtful. "But you told me that they love each other."

"Do you think people that love each other—regardless if they're a man and a woman, or two men, or two women—should get married?"

I smiled up at her. "If they love each other."

Edythe smiled back. "Well, that thing you said earlier, honey, about the girls being princesses and the boys being princes..."

"Yeah?" I ask, watching her as she tests my water temperature.

"Well, honey, how would you feel if, say, a boy wanted to dress up as a princess or a girl wanted to dress up as a prince?"

I felt my eyes widen. "Do some kids do that?"

"Of course, even I did sometimes when I was younger. Sometimes, I wanted to be a pirate for the day or something, but most pirates have to wear pants—it makes getting around easier."

"So... Thompson is gay..."

"That's right, sweetie."

"And Mommy said she was a l... What was it?"

"Your mommy was a lesbian, sweetheart."

I nod. "Right. And is it called something if a boy wants to dress like a girl or a girl wants to dress like a boy?"

"Well," Edythe replies, stopping my water, "it's called quite a few things. There's something that happens to some people who, when they're born, think that they're born into the wrong body."

"The wrong body?!" I demand, horrified, as I get into the bathtub. "What does _that_ mean?!"

"Well, sweetie, it means that some girls who were born with girl parts, or some boys who were born with boy parts think that they were born with the wrong private areas," she replied patiently. "They think, and feel in their hearts and minds, that they should have been born the opposite gender."

"Does every boy and girl think that?" I ask.

Edythe kissed my forehead. "No, sweetheart, not everyone. But I know in my heart and in my mind that if you feel that way, the most important thing is to have people around you who love and support you."

"Were you born that way, Aunt Edythe?" I ask her.

Edythe shook her head. "No, honey. I knew from the moment I could understand such things that I was a girl, and now I'm a woman."

"Am I like that?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

I considers it for a moment, but ultimately find myself shaking my head, finally sure of myself. "No."

"And that's okay, too. But I know that Lincoln and I have discussed it and if we ever had children in that situation, we would be supportive."

"I'm a child..."

"Yes, sweetheart, you are."

"Am I your child?" I ask.

"Yes. Yes, Leia, you are," she says without hesitation.

I smile. "Good," I say.

I finished with my bath shortly thereafter, and was pleased when Edythe read to me more of _Half Magic_ by Edward Eager. It would be one of the first chapter books I'd ever read, but it wouldn't prove to be the last. I believed that the love I had for reading helped me in the early years, when I was unsure of how things worked, and how I coped with the loss I'd experienced after my mother left. Little did I know then what I knew now, and I wondered, had I changed one little thing, if we still would have ended up where we were...

Police academy wasn't all it was cracked up to be; halfway through, I considered giving up, especially after the constant reminders that both my grandmother and mother graduated with top marks from the institution. I sucked up my listlessness and swallowed my pride, knowing that I could do as best as I could, and it would be enough, on my own terms. I threw myself into the program, just determined to make it to the finish line, and to pass as well. When the graduation ceremony was just around the corner, I learned that I'd received top marks, especially in combat training, which was virtually unheard of for someone with my background. They said it was in my blood, and that was why they believed initially that I'd done so well, and not merely on my own merits.

Graduation day came and I stood with all the other fellow police officers, pleased to take on the title of Officer Torrance. I remembered Edythe telling me that she'd run into Lincoln at her own police academy graduation, and just how attractive she thought he really was. My godmother, Gina—although it was more for ceremonial reasons than for religious—met Lincoln when she and Edythe had graduated with their bachelor's degrees. Now she lived in Japan with her husband and their four children, and while we hadn't seen her since she'd come for a visit while I was in middle school, I knew she would be proud of me, too.

"Officer Torrance. Sounds good on you."

"Thanks, Olivia," I say, stepping forward. "You're still a legend in the department, and it means a lot that you came here today."

"Hey, I'm your great-grandmother," she says, putting her arms around me. "I may have just turned seventy, but I'm still going strong."

I was then handed off to Owen, before Edythe, Lincoln, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter all embraced me respectively. Owen was considerate enough to hand over Alexandrine, who was now five-years-old and didn't need to be carried, was doted on by absolutely everyone in her family, except for Chelsea, who hadn't attended the ceremony, much to my relief. Alexandrine's aunt Felicity, now at the end of her senior year of high school, had been accepted into Julliard and was going to be majoring in violin. As for Fin and Hunter, now fourteen and almost eleven respectively, would be starting high school and middle school, and I knew Edythe would be falling into more of her element on the job.

I managed to put Alexandrine down, and the three of us said goodbye to everyone who came out to see me—even Fin, Amanda, and Carisi had come to wish me well and luck—but I knew Alexandrine had to keep on her schedule. I remembered once again Cosmo and Ethan's voicemail about how their trip to Milan had prevented them from coming—the congratulatory basket had helped ease what little pain I'd initially had.

Taking both our hands, we walked down the sidewalk and hailed a cab with our daughter with us every step of the way. Owen lifted her into the vehicle one it pulled up, and we all piled inside. We gave the address to the penthouse, rolling down the window as we went to wave off the well-wishers, as the cab pulled further into the distance.

"Gun?"

"Strapped, locked and loaded."

Owen gave a rueful grin in my direction. "Pepper spray?"

"Tucked away in the side pocket for easy access."

My husband nodded in approval. "Okay... Nightstick?"

I reach out and swat him gently on the shoulder. "You've been watching your buddy cop flicks for too long, Dr. Torrance," I scold him.

"Ooh, I love it when you call me doctor, officer," Owen says, getting to his feet and putting his arms around my waist. "So glad your shift is over for the day and that you're back home, safe with your doctor husband..." He looks me over, desire in his eyes. "You look so hot in this uniform—too hot. Maybe I should be a good doctor and take your temperature..."

"Ugh," I groan sarcastically, pulling away from him and walking over to our wall safe, before immediately unlocking it and placing my gun inside. "Not officer for very long, you know..."

"What are you talking about?" Owen asks. From behind me, I can hear him hanging up his suit jacket and taking off his shoes. "Put in for early retirement already? Which would be great, because then we can have more kids and you can play mommy while daddy saves lives..."

I turn to face him, rolling my eyes as I secure the safe behind me, the password firmly locked into my memory. "I told my commanding officer that I think I might be ready within a year to take the detective's exam."

"Raising the ranks just like your mom?" he asks.

"Like Edythe, I suppose," I say, never liking to talk about my adoptive parents or my biological mother. "But... Well, I suppose I should tell you, I was able to call in a favor or two at the sperm bank...found out something pretty interesting when I got ahold of them the other day."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Owen asks.

I turn to face him, proceeding to take off my tie and putting my officers' cap on my nightstand. "Number 01487 was never a number in their database during the 2018-2019 donor year."

"Well, you know as well as I do that they can freeze the damn things for over a decade," Owen replies, throwing his socks in the hamper and placing his pants upon his clothes tree.

"Of course, which is why I had them go all the way back to 2006 and there was no record whatsoever," I reply.

"What does that mean?" asks Owen.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders as I unbuttoned my shirt. "Well, it seems like there could've been three possibilities—one, the filing system got messed up in the over twenty years I've waited to find out; two, I'm looking at the wrong sperm bank; or three, my mother's lying to me."

"If she's lying to you... Then that means..."

"Then that means she had a relationship with a man at some time or another," I reply steadily, unbuckling my belt and setting my pants beside Owen's. "Which means that my mother was either raped, or, at one time or another, attracted to a man in her life."

"Have any ideas?" Owen asked.

I shake my head. "None," I reply, crossing the room. I make my way into the bathroom, intending to take my hair down, brush it and my teeth, and then just climb into bed. It was a Friday night, so showering tomorrow morning wouldn't be an issue, I saw that now. I dragged my brush through my hair, not really gazing at my reflection in an active manner before I began working on my teeth. Brushing those canines in little circles got tedious after over twenty-five years of doing it, but it had to be done. It was when the brush contacted with my tongue too far back for my liking that I promptly turned towards the toilet and vomited into it like there was no tomorrow.

"All right, babe?" Owen called from the bedroom as I hastily washed my mouth out and brushed my teeth again.

I shake my head. "Fine, honey!" I called back.

I stared at myself in the mirror; a cold sweat had developed upon my forehead and neck, and I stared at myself in the pane of glass. Dark circles under my eyes stood out, as well as the fact that my cheeks were white as a sheet. I hadn't felt this way in almost a solid ten years; I knew then that it wasn't since...

"No..." I whispered. Immediately, I dove under the sink, thanking Christ for a previous scare we'd had about two and a half years ago. Grabbing the necessary cardboard box, I tore it open, the thin white stick resting in my hands. "Just going to use the bathroom!" I called to Owen, who was distracted by the latest episode in the thirty-eighth season of _Modern Family_.

I sat down on the toilet to relieve myself, savoring the feeling of the sensation of my bladder shrinking down to normal size once again. Fumbling with the test in my hands, I knew how quick I had to be. One false move, and I'd be sharing the toilet with an almost-thirty-year-old man who knew next to nothing having to do with boundaries when it came to bathroom privacy and hygiene. I set the test down on the edge of the counter, flushing the toilet and washing my hands with quick, jerking motions that could have ended up flooding the bathroom if I'd had a mind to do so.

"Honey, you'd better hurry!" Owen cries from the other side of the door, like a girl waiting for the final contestant on _The Voice_. "They're disputing Jay's will! Jay left everything to Mitch and Cam! Hurry!"

I roll my eyes, drumming my fingers on the marble that makes up the counter around the sink. "Almost done, honey!" I call back. I check my cell phone, willing the minutes to tick by faster than they ever have before. When my stopwatch vibrates a moment later, I quickly shut it off, not wanting to alert Owen to anything untoward happening behind closed doors. Picking up the test, a friendly-looking plus sign stares up at me. "All right, then," I say, taking the test with me as I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, switching off the T.V. almost directly thereafter.

"Hey!" Owen whined. "Luke was telling everyone how he got a girl pregnant while in high school!"

I roll my eyes at him. "Honey, please be serious for a moment."

Immediately, Owen sits up from his propped-up against the pillows positon. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

I sigh, handing over the pregnancy test. "Is that okay?"

Owen takes it immediately, looking it over. "What...? Really?" he asks, his eyes shining in anticipation.

I nod at him. "Really," I reply.

Owen gets to his feet, pulling me into his arms. "I'm never letting you go!" he cries out. "I want to shout it from the rooftops and into the heart of Downtown TriBeCa!" he proclaims, giddy as a small boy on Christmas. "We've officially begun procreating again!"

I laugh aloud at him. "Well, I suppose we have," I reply.

"Rank, name and badge number, please."

"Officer, Leia Torrance, 7028," I reply without missing a beat.

"Very good," says the rather portly gentleman from behind his desk which should have been discontinued seventy years ago. He scrawls something down in some illegible handwriting before reaching into a pile marked DETECTIVE and hands over a thick stack of papers. "Take any desk in the detective's section of the classroom and take your test. No talking, and we ask that you surrender your bags," he says, getting to his feet.

I hand over my purse. "No problem," I reply.

He regards me for a moment, quickly deducing that I am ready to pop at any moment. "There's a mandatory break in an hour and a half of thirty minutes," he says, quickly shaking his head as he turns and puts my purse with the rest of them, into some cubbies that had to have been cubbies for elementary school children in the early 2000's. "Then you've got another hour to fully complete the examination process... How far along are you?"

"Thirty-three weeks," I reply. "About another month to go or so."

He shakes his head. "No, I'd say two weeks, maximum."

I blink, shocked. "Excuse me?"

He sighs. "Lady, I got two sets of twins for my kids, and I was a twin, plus my wife's got twin brothers. I know these things."

I laugh at the assumption, shaking my head. "No, you're mistaken. I'm just having a boy right now. Not twins..."

"Lady, my wife is a midwife, and I have a lotta free time to do me some reading. It may seem like one, but trust me, it's two."

I shake my head. "No, just one baby growing in here..."

"Lady, you're cutting into your exam time," he says gruffly. "All I know is, that sometimes one twin'll hide behind the other."

I roll my eyes when he turns back to the paperwork that looks to be a mediocre outline for a new superhero project. I turn around and find the detective testing section, recognizing a few of the officers in my unit as I step forward. I pull out the chair of my chosen desk, setting down the paperwork and flipping through it. The questions were pretty straightforward to me, and I was able to complete all of them in the first hour and thirty minutes, and planned to use the last of the time to fully check over my work. I get to my feet when the watcher informs us that it is time for a break, and I immediately put my exam in the secure location before making my way from the classroom and towards the ladies' room. Using the bathroom had officially become a life skill for me at this point; I'd been able to work until the middle of my second trimester, and then I was on strict desk duty after that time had elapsed. _I'd read more about parking ticket laws than I'd cared to admit_ , I thought to myself as I left the bathroom, making my way towards the vending machine and crossed my fingers for something good.

A single serving size bag of chocolate-covered pretzels beckoned to me, and I reached into my pocket for some of the bills I kept in there. After feeding the machine some of my life savings—not literally, but still—I had my prize. Popping the bag open, I savored the taste of the chocolate and salt mixed together, the ultimate pleasure within this pregnancy, not counting the mandatory once a week sex I had with Owen. Well, it was mandatory to both of us—we loved each other, and it was a way to feel closer at the end of the day, or the beginning of the day, if we chose to do it in the shower before work.

I walked along the maroon-tiled floor of this ancient building, pulling my scarf closer around my neck. It was May, and yet a thick rain had been corrupting New York for over a week. Plus, I'd been much colder in this pregnancy than I'd had with Alexandrine, so I was grateful for the adornment, bought for me at Christmas by my little angel herself. I rounded the corner, keeping my eyes on my own footsteps, despising the flecks of white within the maroon tiles—it wasn't even white, it was some sort of burnt cream color, and not the pleasant kind. I kept walking closer and closer to the testing room, when a sudden shot of pain seemed to erupt from inside me, causing my to let out a momentary gasp of pain and grip onto the brick wall beside me for support.

"Okay, not now," I say, gently putting a hand on my stomach. "Mommy has to go advance in her career right now. If you must come today, please can you wait another couple of hours? Please?" But in the next fraction of a second, everything changed; my water broke right there on the abysmal tile floor beneath me, and I had to practically stick my hand down my throat to keep from screaming at the pain. Carefully, I managed to walk down the hallway and back to the testing room, opening the door and feeling totally mortified as everyone turned in their seats to look at me. I walked up to the desk where the watcher sat, and stepped closer.

"Hey," I said, fighting to keep it together. "I'm kind of in labor, and I finished my exam already, so I was just thinking I could go and maybe... Oh...contraction," I said, breathing heavily and gripping the side of the desk. "...maybe go and have my baby now, if that's all right."

Immediately, the watcher hands over my bag and I refuse all help as I manage to run out of there. I was just a couple of blocks from Mercy Hospital, where Owen was as one of the children's oncologists. Making my way in through the main doors, I was greeted by many of the nurses familiar to me, but I quickly brushed past them and walked up to the receptionist.

"Hey, Flo," I say, gripping onto the side of her desk as well.

"I can't pull Owen out of work again for you," she replies without looking up at me. "I got lectured last time."

"It's more than that," I reply. "You see, I'm sort of in labor and I need medical assistance urgently. Owen wouldn't be much help for that, although I would like him in the delivery room eventually..."

Flo looked up, completely embarrassed, ordering me a wheelchair and the best delivery suite available. I was promptly taken back, and while I'd like to say I was comfortable, I had to constantly squirm and cross my legs every which way to prevent a squalling infant from falling onto the floor. _Lawsuit waiting to happen_ , I told myself as we got to the maternity ward on the tenth floor. Owen had been paged and was waiting in the doorway, getting me up onto the delivery table and assisting me with putting my feet up into the stirrups.

"Is the midwife coming?" I asked, taking Owen's hand as a wave of pain overtook me again.

"Soon, they told me soon," he said. "We've been upped to top priority in the maternity ward because you're so early."

I rolled my eyes. "Just get me something for the pain," I groaned, blinded by the tears I felt coursing down my cheeks. "Call my...call my mom..."

"Which one?" Owen asked patiently.

"Ed-ythe!" I shouted. "I want her! I want my mom!"

Two and a half hours later, my arms weren't even tired from holding my twins. I'd been able to breastfeed them immediately after delivery, and the doctors said that they were five pounds six ounces and five pounds eight ounces respectively. They were the perfect size, fitting just into the crook of my arm on each side, and I felt more complete than I'd initially felt in a long time. We'd chosen the names Rebecca Opal Torrance and Henry Owen Torrance, and were the most popular family in the maternity ward that cold May afternoon.

I remember initially panicking when Chelsea showed up, embracing Owen at the door, a pink balloon in one hand and a blue one in the other. She stepped forward, but not so close, and peered happily into Rebecca and Henry's faces briefly before making eye contact with me. Her eyes were kind that day, but I was still on my guard, but knew I had to attempt to make peace.

"Owen, can you give us a minute, please?" I asked.

After giving me a shocked expression, my husband suddenly received a page and left the room.

"How are you?" I asked her.

Chelsea smiled. "I'm good," she replied, tying one of the balloons to one side of my back bed frame, before circling to the other side and tying on the other. "Really good... Listen, I'm sure you want to know while I'm here..."

I give her a tight smile, nodding for her to sit in the offered chair beside my bed. "I would like to know, yes."

She sighs. "Of course, I could give the easy answer and say I wanted to meet the twins, but I won't do that." She rolls her shoulders for a moment before continuing with what I assumed would be a confession—I was right. "The reason for me blackmailing you was because I needed money for drugs."

"Who knows about this?"

"Mom and Dad, plus Owen," she replied. "I came fully clean to him about the whole thing after Alexandrine was born. That's why he didn't fight you after you told him that you didn't want me around her. At the time, I was furious, and even got Mom to ask you to give her custody so that I could get her eventually... It was a rotten thing to do, and I'm so sorry..."

"What drugs?" I ask.

"Cocaine, mostly," she says. "I was snorting it more than twice a day. It got to the point where I was doing it upwards of five to seven times a day. I was in denial for a long time, and it was after Alexandrine turned three that I started to turn my life around completely. I did my design school simultaneously with rehab."

"How much time to do you have clean and sober?"

"Seven years, four months, three weeks, and five days," she replies. "When I get to a decade, we'll think about starting a family."

"We?" I ask.

Chelsea holds up her left hand. "I got married," she replies. "We got married a year after I became clean and sober."

"That's amazing!" I say, finding that I am genuinely happy for her.

"Her name is Charmaine D'Arcy—maybe you've heard of her..."

"She's only Victoria's Secret, Vogue's, and Ford's number one girl!" I cry out, shaking my head. "How'd you get her?"

"We met at a gala during the height of my coke phase," she replies. "Charmaine only did it to decrease her nerves, but she stopped cold turkey after we got serious and she found out my problem. When I was in rehab, I designed my Snowflake Line..."

"Wait—that was you?" I ask. "But it's under..."

"My stage name, Chelsea Crabtree," she replies. "From my Snowflake Line came my Flaming Line, when I felt rejuvenated after the rehab stint. Then the Fire & Ice Line, the Empress Line, and the Wicked Line."

"You've certainly been busy," I reply, noting how healthy she looked despite what must've been the crazy work hours. "Does Charmaine wear your designs?" I ask, for I was genuinely curious.

"That's a stipulation of her contract," I reply. "I have contracts with every agency she signs with that I reserve the right to alter the costumes in any way I see fit. So far, I've made each company millions."

"Did you design this?" I ask, taking note of her scoop-neck, gray sweater dress. It was paired with plum-colored sweater tights and black Prada boots.

"I did," she replied. "Do you like it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's gorgeous."

Chelsea looks me over. "You're about a four?"

I nod. "Yes."

"My sizes are odd numbered," she explains, "which means in my sizes, you'd either be a three or a five. I'll send you both, and after trying them both on, send back the one that doesn't fit you."

"What does this run for? Two hundred?"

"Three-fifty," Chelsea says with a grin. "But you're my...sister...so of course there's no charge. All I ask is that you give a positive review on the website. Those add up and I get more sales."

There is a knock on the door then and a doctor pops her head in. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says as two nurses follow her. "But the babies need to be placed in their cribs for proper relaxation, and I need to have a word with you, Officer Torrance."

"Of course," I say, watching Chelsea making a move to leave. "No, it's all right, you can stay," I tell her. "She's my sister," I tell the doctor.

"That's quite all right, then," the doctor replies. "Well, as I'm sure you recall, you experienced some blood loss, so we asked a family member to donate for you. It was a perfect match—you have a wonderful mother."

I nod. "Yeah, I guess. My biological mother... Please, I don't want to see her. She can't see my kids. I don't really talk to her..."

"I don't understand," my doctor said.

I blinked. "Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your biological mother was here during the birth, Officer Torrance."

I shake my head. "That's impossible. The woman that was here was my aunt by marriage and my mother by adoption..."

"The blood work showed a maternal female match to you."

The door opens and I see Edythe standing here, her gaze haunted. She steps inside, and says, "Could all of you give us a minute, please?"

After everyone has filed out, Edythe takes Chelsea's seat. "Honey, I think you and I need to have a talk."

"You think so?" I demand. "What's going on?"

"I met your... Henrietta, when she was very young," Edythe replies, reaching out to take my hand. "She wanted to have a baby, and I was money-hungry at the time, so I took her pay-off to donate an egg. Lincoln had given her some of his sperm to fertilize the egg, and then Henrietta was implanted with the egg. Henrietta soon discovered her pregnancy..."

"Wait, stop!" I cry out, pulling my hand away from her.

"Honey..."

"What are you telling me?!" I demand then, my voice shaking.

"I'm telling you that your father and I are a 99.9% match," she replies. "I'm your biological mother, and Henrietta adopted you as a baby."

"When did you...?"

"Today," she replies. "Honestly, Lincoln and I—we neither of us had any idea. I am so sorry, sweetheart."

I shake my head, digging my nails into the rather flimsy fabric of the hospital blanket. "Not as sorry as Henrietta's going to be," I whisper.


	5. Hands to Myself

Chapter Five: Hands to Myself

I take a few weeks' vacation time to get over the unexpected news of being raised by my biological parents, as well as the realization that I now had three young children to care for. I'd told Owen immediately that the notion of having further children, at this point, was beyond me, and he seemed to understand. I also told him that I fully intended to move out of the penthouse, wanting to distance myself as much as possible from my whole family. Owen agreed, thinking a house was just the kind of structure our family needed.

I put Rebecca and Henry into their stroller one afternoon, about half an hour before Alexandrine was due to get out of school for the day. We leisurely left the penthouse, as I intended to stop at the corner grocery store to pick up some dinner supplies beforehand. We walked down the sidewalk, and I was relieved that June had become warmer, although it was merely in the mid-seventies as we walked down the road ahead. The twins were quietly babbling to themselves, and all was well as I entered the store.

I picked up some meat and other dinner fixings, managing to get out of there in around fifteen minutes. I left the store and walked down the way towards my daughter's school as a cool wind blew through my hair. We made it through the gates and the slew of other mother's waiting let up a chorus of squeals as we approached, immediately surrounding the carriage and wanting to get a good look at Rebecca and Henry. I smiled tightly through the ordeal; sure, my twins were equally beautiful, with large blue eyes and their cheeks were beginning to fill out considerably, but they spent most of their time sleeping as it was.

The bell soon rang and Alexandrine trooped out onto the playground where I was waiting with the other mothers. She grinned and ran towards me, a spring in her step as she approached. It was Friday, and the following Monday would begin the final week of school, with only two more days after that. We'd decided to delay telling her until this weekend, knowing that the blow of changing schools was inevitable, yet changing neighborhoods was another matter entirely. As we walked, I recalled the text message I'd gotten from Owen, informing me that he'd had to double up on shifts and that he'd be home late, after Alexandrine had gone to bed, so it would be me and the kids on my own that night.

"Daddy has to work late," I told Alexandrine casually as we walked through the school gates and down the sidewalk.

"Why?" she asked, bringing one foot into the air and hopping along the sidewalk in a happy manner. "It's Friday."

"I know that, sweetheart," I replied patiently, not wanting to stop her, but equally not wanting her to fall either. "Daddy's a doctor, and doctors have to work."

She nods. "I know, Mama," she replies. She is silent for a few hops before bringing her foot down and walking next to the carriage, peering in now and again. "Does he miss us when he can't be at home with us? Daddy, I mean."

I nod at her. "Of course he does, sweetheart," I reply patiently. "Daddy's job just has a lot of people involved who need him. I mean, you remember when Daddy and I told you about what he does, right?"

My nine-year-old nods, fully absorbing the information. "Yes," she replies. "You guys told me that he helps babies who are sick."

"Yes, babies, toddlers, and small children," I reply.

"Like me?"

"Like you," I reply as we turn the corner, passing the grocery store. I reach into the bag kept below the stroller on the canvas holder and dig inside. "Bought this for you when the twins and I went before picking you up," I said, handing over her favorite fruit snack.

Alexandrine squealed and took it immediately. "Thanks, Mama!" she cried, breaking the plastic seal and devouring the sugary, strawberry-scented snack. "It's really good today," she commented.

I smile at her. "Good," I reply.

We walk to the end of the block before crossing the street and walking towards the penthouse. I unlock the street door and we head inside, making our way through the foyer as the door automatically locks behind us and barely shudder at the echo it makes. We head towards the elevator and I press the correct button before heading inside, while Alexandrine uses her other, non-sticky, non-red hand to press the other button. I drum my fingers along the handlebars of the stroller during the ride up, before sighing and turning to look down at her.

"Sweetheart, Mama has to tell you something."

"What is it, Mama?" she asks, crumpling her wrapper, her small hand gripping onto it, all the while sticking her sticky fingers into her mouth to wipe off the excess sugar secreted onto them. "Am I in trouble?"

I sigh. "Well, Daddy and I were going to tell you together, but he's not going to be here, so I have to tell you myself."

"Tell me what?"

The elevator doors ding and we reach the upstairs, and I find that I am annoyed that the elevator journey was so short that day. "Why don't you help me get the twins ready for their nap?" I ask her, setting the bag of groceries onto one of the kitchen counters. "Then, you can help me unpack the groceries and then we can have a drink on the veranda. Deal?"

"Can I have juice?" she asks as we step into the penthouse.

I grin down at her. "Of course," I reply. We cross to the inner elevator, taking the stroller with us, before stepping inside there as well. We ride up to the second floor, depositing the stroller into the hall closet, as Alexandrine bent to retrieve Henry and I did so to Rebecca. We carried them down to the end of the hall to the nursery, taking them to their changing tables beforehand. We checked and changed them both before putting them each into one of their many sleeping onesies and putting them into their cribs. Slipping quietly out of the nursery, we head downstairs and go into the kitchen, unpacking the groceries.

"What kind of juice do you want, sweetheart?" I ask as Alexandrine carefully puts the new boxes of cereal away.

"Pomegranate, please," she replies.

"On it," I reply. I pour a glass of pomegranate juice for her and apple juice for me and set them down on a tray which I've put on the sideboard. Just as I'm about to pick up the tray and head outside with Alexandrine, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I check to see who it is. "It's work," I say, annoyed.

"I can take the tray," Alexandrine offers.

I nod. "Go outside and sit on the veranda," I tell her, and she picks up the tray as I move to answer the phone. "Careful," I say softly, putting the phone up to my ear and holding my breath. "Officer Torrance," I say into the receiving end.

"Hello Officer Torrance, it's Chief Henderson, your commanding officer," says the familiar voice into the phone.

"Hello, chief," I reply, envisioning Iris Henderson, my boss for over five years, on the other end of the phone. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm only just now hearing about the circumstances of your detective's exam and what caused you to leave early," she says. "Are you all right?"

I nod, quickly, and remember that she can't see me. "I am, thanks, chief," I reply in a quick voice. "A lot to take in—sorry."

"Hey, don't apologize, I just want to make sure you're all right," she replies. "You know, normally I don't make special calls like this, but as soon as I got my hands on the information, I wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?" I ask, when there's a knock on my door. "Someone's at my place at the moment, chief..."

"It's me, silly," she said, laughing.

Crossing the penthouse, I move to check the spyhole before opening the door. "It's good to see you, chief," I say, stepping back to allow her in. "Do you want to sit down and have something to drink?"

"While that sounds great, I can't stay more than a minute," she replies, her long red hair tied back in a silky ponytail. "I wanted to come by and tell you personally the results of your exam."

I sigh. "Well, I'm not expecting anything..."

"What do you mean, detective?" Chief Henderson asks.

"Well, I..." My eyes widen then as I force my brain to process what she's saying to me in that moment, in the foyer of the penthouse. "What?"

Chief Henderson grins, putting out a hand, and I'm immediately grabbing hers. "I want to be the first to congratulate you," she says, shaking my hand firmly. "You were a good beat cop, and you'll be an even greater detective."

"Do you know where they're putting me?" I ask.

"Well, since your mother is in the business, you get a few options. Narcotics, Hostage Negotiations, Homicide, Computer Crimes..."

"SVU?" I find myself asking.

Chief Henderson nods. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"How would I go about working there?" I want to know.

She smiles. "I'll put in a good word, although I suspect that you'll be able to get in on your own," she replies. "Congratulations," she says again before slipping out of the penthouse without another word.

My maternity leave was officially over during the summer, and I waited for my placement as a detective by taking some vacation time afterwards. It was when September dawned that I learned that Chief Henderson had made good on putting in a good word for me, and I was permitted to join SVU underneath my mother's captaining. I cleared my desk under Chief Henderson's watchful eye in the middle of the second week of September before getting into my car and driving across town to the SVU squad room.

I got the elevator up, gripping onto my box of possessions, and made my way up to the squad room and hesitated in the doorway. Carisi stood up from his lieutenant's desk, a big smile on his face, and stepped forward. He pulled me into a one-armed hug, and I did my best to return it as he took my box from me. He motioned towards a new desk, on the other side of the squad room, and placed the box just beside the computer.

"Your new desk," he said, putting out his hand with a smile. "Welcome aboard, Detective Torrance."

"Thanks, Lieutenant Carisi," I reply, shaking his hand. "Glad to be here." I turned ever so slightly to my mother's office. "Is my mother...?"

"Cap's in there," Carisi assured me. "She was on a phone call, but I think if you knock she'll let you in."

"Thanks," I reply, flashing him another smile before turning and making my way across the room towards her office. I tap on the door, turning the old-fashioned brass knob automatically after a moment and putting my head around the door. I look up to see my mother at her desk and she looks up, flashing me a smile before holding up a finger.

"Yes, thank you, Captain," she says. "Sorry, Dad. I know, I know. All right; I'll see you and Ophelia this weekend for dinner. All right; I love you, too. Yes, I'll be sure to check in with Livi, Donnie, and Mason later in the week. Actually, she just walked in," she tells my grandfather. "I don't know. I'll ask." She covers the talking piece of her phone. "Want to say a quick hello to Grandpa, or is now not a good time?"

"I'll say 'hi'," I reply, holding out my hand for the phone.

My mother smiles at my reply. "Dad? Hi. Leia would like to say hello. Great, I'll put her on," she says, handing the phone to me.

"Hey, Grandpa," I say into the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart!" Grandpa says. "How's everything?"

"Fine, thanks Grandpa. How's things with you?"

"We're doing fine. But enough about me. Tell me—how are my beautiful great-grandchildren?"

"Alexandrine's doing well, thanks."

"And she got the present in the mail? I sent it overnight, so that it would get there on time..."

I laugh a little. "Yes, she did get that and your birthday note."

"I so wanted to be there for the party, sweetheart, but Ophelia and I couldn't say no to this vacation..."

I shake my head, forgetting that he won't be able to see it. "No, I know your second honeymoon in Europe couldn't wait."

"Ophelia was very busy over there. Learned two languages, too. Did your mom mention that? She learned French and Italian."

"No, I didn't know Ophelia learned French and Italian on the trip. That's amazing, Grandpa, really."

"And the twins? How are those beautiful angels?"

"The twins?" I ask. "Yes, Rebecca and Henry are doing wonderful—just got done baby-proofing because they've begun pulling themselves across the penthouse floor. Yes, their pediatrician says that they should start crawling within the next few months or so."

"Are you and Owen getting a house any time soon?" he asks. "Children should be raised in a house. Aren't they paying him enough at the hospital?"

I sigh. "Well, actually, we have found something," I reply, looking to make sure my mother is looking over some paperwork—my transfer papers. "We're going to see it next week."

"Sorry, honey! One second!" Grandpa says, the phone away from his ear before he brings it back again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart—Ophelia and I are jetting off for Hawaii and we can't miss our plane."

"No problem, Grandpa," I reply.

"Tell your mother I say goodbye," he says in a rush. "I love you both!"

"Love you, too, Grandpa," I say, and listen to the dial tone for a moment before hanging up myself.

"Hawaii?" my mother asks, a knowing look in her eyes.

I move to sit opposite her, putting my hands in my lap. "Yes. Last I heard, it was Ophelia's wildest dream to go."

My mother sighs, leaning back in her desk chair. "Am I wrong to compare him to Alec Baldwin?" she asks.

I shrug. "Based solely on the fact that Ophelia is a yoga instructor?"

She sighs a second time. "Maybe..."

I cock an eyebrow. "Did he ever call you or Livi a 'pig'?"

My mother snorts, almost as if she's making a point. "No."

"How are they, anyway? Livi, Donnie, and Mason?"

My mother smiles. "Mason's latest art gallery opening in So-Ho should be going off without a hitch," she replies.

"My seventeen-year-old uncle is already a bonafide millionaire," I reply, shaking my head. "Kid gets his GED at sixteen, goes to Europe, comes back a new man with half a dozen paintings..."

"Which sell for thousands upon thousands of dollars," my mother said with a satisfied smile.

"And Donnie and Livi?" I ask.

"Livi's still the top reporter for her network as of Tuesday last week," my mother tells me. "They've renewed her contract for _New Morning, New York_ for the next five years."

"And my older uncle? Donnie?"

"As the Dean of Hudson University, my little brother hardly has time for me anymore," she says, smiling and shaking her head. "You know, now that he's the dean, it's made Hudson's relationship with SVU all the better?"

"That'll come in handy, considering," I say, "that I'm your newest detective." I sit back in the chair, giving my mother a smile. "Happy to have me?"

"Yes," my mother replies, signing the paperwork in front of her with a flourish of her pen. "Aren't you?"

"So happy," I reply, getting to my feet and taking her offered hand.

She opens her drawer and hands over a golden badge, the words DETECTIVE LEIA TORRANCE across the top and NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT etched onto the bottom. "To keep you official, detective," she said.

I pin it onto a belt loop of my suit pants. "I always thought wearing a suit to work was a rite of passage," I say with a chuckle.

"And what do you think now?"

I smile a little. "It still is," I reply.

"Well, off to your desk, detective," my mother says. "Your phone line was hooked up, supervised by Carisi this morning. He'll be partnering with you on all cases until we can get a partner for you on a permanent basis."

"No rush," I say with a smile. "I like Carisi." I see something flit through my mother's eyes then, but decide to ignore it as I give her a nod and slip back outside to my desk.

EDYTHE'S POV

I remembered how my desire not to expand our family had led to my separation from Lincoln, and how hard we'd had to work to get our marriage back on track. It was around three months after my miscarriage that I told Lincoln about the affair, and he learned about the pregnancy shortly thereafter. On the condition that I told him everything, he'd promised never to bring it up again. I barely remembered that drunken night that Sonny and I had slept together; we had been on a national assignment three and a half weeks before Christmas, and had found ourselves in Dallas, investigating a serial rapist. I hadn't been in Dallas since my affair with Baxter, and it was all very surreal for me as I surveyed the familiar landscape. Sonny, of course, knew about my past history with Dallas, and was incredibly patient and gentle—although the decision to go to a club and get drunk on our last night in Texas probably wasn't a good idea. We soon returned to our accommodations in Irving, TX—I'd splurged and gotten us rooms at the Four Seasons, because I did not, in any uncertain terms, want to stay at the Rosewood Manor again—and went back to our rooms. We were staying in a suite, with separate bedrooms, and soon said goodnight in the living room—after splitting a bottle each of merlot and chardonnay respectively—we went our separate ways for the night.

Sonny came into my room shortly thereafter, and confessed that he and Amanda were having problems with honesty in their marriage. I apologized, and stated that Lincoln and I had found our separation beneficial, although it would not be so for every couple. As I made my way along the road towards home that night, I remembered how it had felt when Sonny had kissed me—different, not as pleasurable as when Lincoln had kissed me, sure—but the alcohol was talking, and the alcohol in me wanted him as much as he did me. After we woke up, tangled in between the sheets, we showered separately and agreed never to discuss it with anyone again—not even Amanda knew.

Until the day Amanda first found out Sonny's and my deception, to the day she retired from SVU, she never put me on another high-profile case. I was put onto desk duty for apparent insubordination, but she never fired me. Sonny knew from then on, that his marriage had officially broken down; he tried and succeeded in getting shared custody, and Amanda begrudgingly allowed it. Now that I was in charge, and back with Lincoln, I knew full well that she was justified in her actions, yet I believe she could have done a lot worse. She could have reported me to some friends in IAB, although she knew as well as I did that my father wouldn't have let his baby girl get fired.

The kids chose to live with her when they came of age. All I know is that the conversation of Sonny and me telling Fin that he's not Lincoln's son would kill him. He would need all the help he could get when the time came.

LEIA'S POV

We never forget our first loves—I know I wouldn't, and was fortune enough to have the opportunity to marry mine. After Ulysses and I had ended things, Owen and I began our relationship in secret, and I knew that it was as reckless as it was dangerous to do. Not only would my parents' fostering license be revoked, but they could've lost Chelsea as well. It was senseless, what we were doing, but we were absolutely addicted to one another, wholeheartedly.

I remember one night when he and I unequivocally couldn't stand it anymore. It was at the end of the week; Chelsea was staying late at school; Dad was already in bed, as were Felicity, Fin, and Hunter. All I knew was that the guest house would be the safest place for us to have a rendezvous; the security cameras had been formally uninstalled after my aunt Livi had left there, and it wasn't like you could hear anything from the main house or vice versa. Unless, of course, shots were fired, and that wouldn't be happening on our end.

We lay in one of the two guest bedrooms, tangled in each other's arms, absolutely loving the contact. I kept a close eye on the clock beside the bed; while my mother was out late at work, I knew this wouldn't last forever. We had to make sure to sneak back to our respective rooms eventually, before she was due home. If we didn't, there would have been suspicions on all ends. Finally, we disengaged ourselves from each other, picking up clothes from the floor in the darkness, and stumbled out into the living room.

"Careful," I said, reaching backwards to keep him from stumbling over the rug, which I knew could have the capacity to break someone's neck. "The boys like to play in her and it gets... Well, not smooth."

He chuckles from behind me. "I know."

We make our way towards the door, and then I turn around, pulling it open ever so slightly. "Should we walk back separately, or together? Or out the back? What do you...?"

He lowers his head to mine and brushes my lips with his. "I don't know."

I stand on my toes, placing my forehead against his. "Neither do I."

"Do you think they know?" he asked softly.

"They will, eventually," I replied.

"We'll make it work," he assured me.

I smiled up at him, feeling utterly in love with him. "I know we will—we just have to keep a lid on it until your birthday."

"That's right—then I'll move out and start college, and you can join me once you're eighteen..."

I touch his chest; thankfully it is hidden by a beautiful sweater that accented his form perfectly. "And... You're not sorry that you gave up being adopted? I told you, you could have..."

Owen silences me with a kiss. "I love you," he tells me. "No piece of paper could change that..."

"It would have," I tell him.

"You're right—it would've kept us separated forever."

I lean down, placing my ear over his heart. "I couldn't let that happen," I say softly to him. "I want you—forever."

Owen holds me tighter. "Forever," he whispers.

I'll admit right off the bat that I was not looking forward to partnering with Carisi on all future assignments until a partner came through for me. There was a point of contention between us—the knowledge that he'd fathered a child, my baby brother Fin, with my mother. Whether or not he knew about me knowing about that fact was unknown to me. Whether or not he was aware of my discomfort was an understatement—he knew what was going on. Even as he was getting up into his sixties, he knew.

"We got us a case," Carisi tells me after taking a seemingly routine phone call and running the conversation by my mother. "We have to go," he says, picking up his suit jacket. "Come on."

Getting to my feet, I tuck my gun into its holster and follow, pulling on my suit jacket as I hurry to keep up. "What do we got?" I ask him.

"Potential domestic disturbance call," Carisi replies as we go down the hallway and directly into the elevator. "Neighbors heard an argument and we have to go and check it out."

"An argument?" I ask as the chrome double doors close behind us. "Don't routine officers usually check that out?"

"Nuh-uh—neighbors also tipped us off that the couple has small children living with them in the residence," he replies as we get down to the ground floor. I find myself raising my eyebrows. "Good to know," I reply as the doors ding and open for us to walk in the parking lot. I jingle my keys ever so slightly. "Want me to drive?" I ask, innocently enough. Hey, trust had to be initiated at some point, right? Disregarding his relationship with my mother, of course...

"Sure," Carisi replies, and I unlock my car. "Sweet ride."

"Gift from the husband," I reply ruefully, getting behind the wheel. "You can key in the address to the GPS system if you like."

Carisi types in a Harlem address, about fifteen minutes away, and I manage to pull out of the parking lot without getting into an accident. It becomes more and more obvious that he's trying not to look at me, and it makes me uneasy as we get into the flow of traffic. He says nothing, and soon we arrive at the residence in question, which turns out to be an apartment building whose architecture has just passed the one-hundred-year mark.

"Which apartment is it?" I ask, parking in front per his indications.

"6C," he replies, getting out of the passenger door.

I move to follow him, locking the car behind me and making my way up the trio of brick steps outside the stone building. I watch as he keys in a code, and I wonder if the concerned neighbor has tipped him off as to what it might be. Still silent, we head inside together, walking to the elevator and waiting rather impatiently for it to arrive. Finally, it does, and a smell of chicken soup, chili, leftover pizza, cigarette smoke, and marijuana fills my nostrils, but I force myself to keep silent. I press the 'six' button at Carisi's nod, and soon we arrive on five floors down from the top floor of the building.

"6C," I say softly to myself, stepping out of the elevator and skimming the brass numbers on the doors. "Right side."

"Great," Carisi says, and leads the way. He motions for me to keep a hand on my gun as we keep walking, and, quite soon, the sound of yelling fills our ears. He steps up to the door, and pounds on it. "NYPD!" he shouts, and I internally cross my fingers that those inside will hear him. "NYPD!"

The yelling keeps going, almost as if it is a recording; a recording that is never-ending. Carisi tries to bust down the door but cannot, and I see the inadequacy in his eyes then. Not wanting to show him up, but also not wanting anyone to be hurt, I step forward.

"Here, let me," I say to him, motioning him aside. Quickly, I make a running start and throw myself against the door; the lock is likely rusty and busts open almost immediately, while the rest of the door splinters and crashes to the floor. Hand on my gun, I bolt inside, Carisi at my heels. "NYPD!" I shout, and, upon looking into the living room, I see a man shaking a woman; both are red in the face—the man from anger, the woman from fear. "Hands up right now!" I yell at him, my voice devoid of any human emotion other than authority. "Let go of her and get down on your knees, right now!"

The man looks bewildered, but doesn't surrender his grip upon the woman's neck in the slightest. Carisi lunges for him then, and the two of them go flying as the woman grunts, air into her lungs at last. I dive down, grabbing her before she hits the hardwood floor, which is in desperate need of a polish. Carisi cuffs the man and tells me that he's going to take him downstairs and call for back-up while I speak to the woman.

"Are you all right?" I ask her, gently.

"Yo no hablo inglés," she says in a rush, tears streaming down her face; her eyes are a deep, chocolate brown, her hair a raven black, and her lashes are some of the thickest I'd ever seen. "Por favor, mis hijos... Mi nombre es Maria López," she tells me.

"Está bien, hablo español," I say quickly, and her eyes immediately look more at ease—she knows she can communicate with me. "Estás a salvo ahora. Mi nombre es Detective Leia Torrance. Ese era mi socio, el teniente Dominick Carisi. Estamos aquí para ayudarte."

"¿Me ayudarás?" she whispers, obviously overwhelmed.

"Sí, soy policía," I tell her, smiling. "¿Donde estan tus hijos?"

"En el dormitorio en la parte de atrás," she tells me, shaking. "¡Por favor, no los lleve lejos de mí!" she cries out, and I wonder if she'd been threatened with something like that before. "Soy ilegal..."

I nod at her, taking her hand. "Mi departamento y yo no nos importa su situación legal. Sólo queremos que estés a salvo," I tell her.

Ambulances arrive shortly thereafter, and I am relieved when there is an EMT who speaks Spanish as well, putting Maria's mind at ease. I head into the bedroom as directed and find four small children there, aged four to eight. They mercifully speak English and the oldest one, Eduardo, is able to tell me that the man in the apartment is their mother's boyfriend. She works for him, he says, but that they were 'special friends', which I took to mean that they were in a sexual relationship and might be boyfriend and girlfriend. They are taken to the hospital then, and Carisi and I are contacted by my mother to come and report back before checking in at the hospital.

Getting back into the car, Carisi and I are silent for a few minutes. I get back onto the main road for Manhattan, just focusing on driving. I feel my new partner's eyes on me, and cross my fingers that he's not being a perv of some kind.

He sighs after a moment, shaking his head, almost as if he's in disbelief. "You know, it's a funny thing..."

"What?" I ask, the traffic on Central Park West becoming close to unbearable. "Is there something else I can assist you with, lieutenant?"

"It's nothing," he replies, "just that..." "Spit it out, Carisi," I reply, going around what appears to be a garbage truck when it pulls off to the side of the road. "Our captain, my mother, informed me of our partnership earlier this morning. It may only be my first day on the job, but I've known you for years. Tell me. What's on your mind?"

He shrugs. "It's complicated."

"Is it?" I ask, inwardly groaning as some jerk refused to signal until the last minute, thus enabling us to miss the light. I turn to him as the light turns red and I brake, looking at him. "Come on, Carisi—we're partners. Partners shouldn't have any secrets. What's on your mind?"

"I don't understand how you can look so much like your mother, despite not being biologically linked to her," he says, shaking his head. "I suppose... Well, I've heard that some dogs take on the looks of their owners sometimes. Maybe that's the case here..."

"Excuse me?" I demand, my voice as cold as ice as I attempt to wrap my head around his statement. "Did you just call me a 'bitch', lieutenant?"

Carisi looks shocked that a nice detective like me would even say such a thing. "I would never..."

"Never call the daughter of your one-night-stand, who also happens to be your boss, a bitch?" I demand as my voice shakes, before I can stop myself.

Carisi looks shocked at my sudden declaration. "Pull over," he orders.

"I don't answer to you—I answer to my mother, and she's ordered us back to the squad immediately," I reply hotly.

"You won't be on the squad much longer if you don't pull this damn car over, Leia!" he shouts, and, fighting the urge to hit him, I do his bidding. " _Look_ at me, Leia."

I force myself to turn and look at him, trying and failing to make my face look cold and emotionless while, instead, it is filled with hatred. "What?" I demand, my voice dripping with venom.

His eyes are ablaze with anger. "Where do you get off telling me that your mother and I had a one-night-stand?" he demands.

"Because I know it's true, okay?"

"No, not okay," Carisi says, firmly. "Tell me what you know."

"Owen and I know," I reply.

"You _told_ him?!" he shouts, betrayal in his tone. "Did your mother tell you about this as some sort of adult-to-adult conversation?"

"No—she didn't have to," I reply. "Owen and I were sneaking around for over a year before he moved out," I confess to him.

"Are you crazy?"

I shrug. "I don't know—does it matter?" I say, slumping back against the seat. "It was mine and Fin's birthday—it was that stupid joint-party. I was seventeen, he was nine."

Carisi reacts to that. "You know Fin's actually a year older than...?"

"Of course I know—Owen and I found out the same day. We were in the guest house when my mother—what was it you called it?—ambushed you. We were in one of the guest bedrooms."

"Why were you in there?!" Carisi demands.

"Gee, Carisi, we were seventeen-years-old, madly in love, and our relationship was illegal in the eyes of the law. What do you think we were doing?!" I demand, giving him a look. "We were hooking up!"

"So, you know that Fin is only your half-brother?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Why didn't you say 'adoptive half-brother'?" I ask, feeling as if something is going to drop from inside me.

Carisi blinks, confused. "Didn't you stay for the whole conversation?"

"Whole conversation? Owen and I heard you and Mom leaving so we got the hell out of there..."

He sighs. "We walked outside, but continued talking..."

"What are you talking about?"

He puts his head into his hands for a moment before turning to look at me. "Edythe knew that Henrietta wanted a baby. She also knew that such a thing would be a little complicated to obtain because she's gay, because your mother had already gotten wind of her fraud..."

"Just spit it out," I reply.

"Your mother knew the whole time that you were hers," Carisi replies, his eyes full of guilt and regret.

"Hers and my dad's," I say. "Hers and Lincoln's."

Carisi looks away.

"Carisi!" I demand, grabbing ahold of his shoulder and shaking him. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Henrietta found the whole idea of having an egg inside her that had been fertilized by Lincoln's DNA. He was only her paternal half-brother, but she found the whole institution of it disgusting."

I feel my blood run cold. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you are the biological daughter of Edythe Beckett, but not of Lincoln Beckett."

"Carisi?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. "I can't..."

I grab ahold of his wrist then. "Don't... Don't do this..."

He pulls away from me. "Can't be helped." His voice is clipped, unemotional—he doesn't care.

"Carisi!" I scream, my voice now borderline desperation. "Please... Please, don't do this to me!"

He shrugs. "I don't know what to do here."

"Don't know what to...? Jeez," I whisper, slamming the back of my head against the head-rest on my seat. "You've just told me that the only father I've ever known, Lincoln Beckett, is not my biological father, _or_ my biological uncle. In fact, there is no link between us whatsoever. So help me, Carisi, if you know who my father is, and you're withholding information, then tell me now."

Carisi sighs. "Your mother... Edythe... Edythe was pregnant before starting police academy," he said quietly. "It was a long time ago—over twenty years. She managed to concealed the pregnancy—didn't even admit that it happened to herself. When you were born, she gave you up to Henrietta..."

"Raped?" I whisper. "My mother was pregnant? By who?"

"Her ex-fiancé—Baxter somebody."

"Baxter died in a plane crash," I reply.

"Yes—nine months _after_ you were born."

"She got an abortion..."

"Lies, all of it," Carisi replied. "Your biological father is Baxter, your mother's uncle-by-marriage, who she had an affair with as a teenage girl."

I reach out, gripping the steering wheel then. "Oh, god..."

"I can walk from here," Carisi says coldly. He gets out of the car; I barely react to the door slamming behind him.

I sit ridged in the front seat, the sensation dawning on me that my mother hadn't initially wanted me. I barely felt the hot tears falling from my eyes, and soon I felt myself screaming. I hit the steering wheel over and over until my knuckles were bleeding, but just managed to send a text to my mother.

 _Something up at Alexandrine's school. Will be by bright and early tomorrow. –L_

I drove as quickly as I could to a swanky apartment building that I knew so well, and had come to call a second home for many years. I parked in a parking space and made my way upstairs, going to the third floor. I knocked on the door, wincing as I left blood stains on it. Hopefully the inhabitant would forgive me...

The door opened then and Olivia stood there, smiling initially but then looking shocked at my appearance. "Leia!" she said, immediately drawing me into her apartment, giving a cursory glance at the blood on her front door. "Sit down. Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Did... Did you know?" I ask her.

"Did I know what?"

I lock my eyes with hers. "Did you know that I'm Edythe's biological daughter, and the daughter of her former fiancé?" I whisper.


	6. God Help the Outcasts

Chapter Six: God Help the Outcasts

I still don't know how in the hell I managed to get out of Olivia's apartment and back to the penthouse across town—my mind just shut off completely. Our new nanny, Sylvia, was on a strict schedule with the twins and had taken them to the park before going to pick up Alexandrine from school. I found I was shaking and considered getting into a hot bath, but knew I could dive beneath the surface of the water if I had a mind to. Stepping into the foyer, I tried to come up for a reason for my mother's deception, and came up empty.

I sat in the living room, methodically fumbling with my cell phone before I pressed a series of buttons. I listened to the rings, all the while sitting on the lime green couch, and wondered what this phone call could possibly do. I wasn't about to call my mother, of course, but I needed some support. With Owen still at work until after six every night, I knew I shouldn't be bothering him. Finally, when the line picked up, I forced my voice not to break.

"Leia?" asked the familiar voice.

"Chelsea," I said quietly.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I bite my lip, hard enough to feel pain but not hard enough to cry out. "No. No, I'm not," I replied.

"What's going on?" Chelsea wanted to know, full of concern.

I feel the hot tears falling like there's no tomorrow down my face—I needed her; in that moment, I needed my sister. "I need your help," I reply.

EDYTHE'S POV

I didn't ever set out to be a mother—even when Baxter asked me to be his wife, it's not like the idea had ever crossed my mind. He'd told me that he'd had his kids and, therefore, he didn't see the need to procreate any further. I understood; I was only eighteen-years-old, and, three years previously, I wasn't really a flourishing adolescent in any way, shape or form. All I could think about was the 'next fix' in the grand scheme of things—and then, as it so often does, it all went wrong. It all went horribly, horribly wrong.

I remember when my mother found me in that hotel room; it was my birthday, and I was wearing this impressive ballgown; it made me feel grown-up, and it probably cost more than my adoption did twofold. Fifteen; that's how old I was when my mother discovered that I was sexually active; I'd been raped at fourteen and she sure as hell knew about that at the drop of a hat. I tried playing it off, but of course, when your mom is a cop, she has friends who are cops; in my state of mind, all I really saw was she was trying and succeeding at ruining my birthday...

I remember practically screaming when the bedroom door was shoved open and the lights were flicked on in one motion. There was a small glass table in the center of the bed, I remember that; I also remember Ryder, resident bad boy/cool kid, had taken out his likely bounced or expired credit cards and used it to cut the drugs, their white power littering the glass surface. On my arm was an I.V.; the heroin was entering my bloodstream faster than the speed of light. And, at the center of it all, is me, naked, joint in my mouth, sitting beside Ryder; he was most certainly not Jason—my fake, choir-boy boyfriend; he was an older guy I knew and hung around with, sometimes without Mom's permission; I'd thought he was badass, especially with a name like Ryder Knox. I could see how shocked she was, my adoptive mother, who had taken me into her home because I'd asked her to. What I didn't know was what shocked her more—that Ryder and I had slept together, or the mini drug cartel we seemed to be running out of the hotel room. I could tell Ryder wasn't sure either, due to the pleased-yet-frightened look on his face at my cop mother staring at us.

"This gonna turn out to be a three-way?" Ryder asks, a rather fat joint in between his teeth.

 _Shut up_ , I think instantly; the last thing I wanted was a lecture about propriety from this nun/mother I had...

"Liv! Fin!" she shouted, and the two of them are in there instantly—Detectives Benson and Tutuola, my mother's closest friends—the shock on their faces more than likely an exact copy of mine.

"M— _om_!" I shout. "Why you gotta s-stop all the fun?! Why c-can't you j-just let me do me?!"

"Because this isn't you," she replies, and, to my horror, she sounds like the exact opposite of who she really is—cold. "This isn't you, Edythe—this is _not_ my daughter, and this is certainly not how I brought you up! I can't believe..."

"Mom, come on," I say, pulling the needle from my arm and throwing it across the room with a clatter; damn, that hurt. "Let's just go back to the party and dance and laugh and have fun..."

"No." She watches me as I slip out of the bed anyhow, and I feel relief wash over me when Fin and Olivia look away as I make a quick grab for my matching bra and underwear. "No, Edythe, you're not going back there," she says, as I turn back towards her.

"Wha—what?" I asked, utterly confused.

"Your call," Fin tells me, as I look from one cop to the other.

"Yeah, Maggie," Olivia says softly. "Whatever you want."

 _Whatever she wants_?! I'd thought at the time. _Who's the birthday girl here_?!

"Arrest him," my mother says, nodding to Ryder.

"With pleasure," Fin says, stepping forward. "Get your boxers back on, you creep," he tells him, throwing them at Ryder, who is surprisingly compliant as I immediately step away from the scene. "Get up," Fin says unforgivingly, throwing Ryder's clothes at him as they make their way out of the room. "You're under arrest for the rape of Edythe Grayson and contributing to the delinquency of a minor!"

Ryder laughs, trying to play it off. "Yeah, man, I don't know about..."

"Shut up!" says Fin. "That girl—that girl back there—she's fifteen man, _fifteen_ for god's sake!" he yells as the elevator doors open. "Get inside there. Let's go!" Fin hauls Ryder out of there, as Ryder protests over and over again that it wasn't rape, which, of course, in the eyes of the law, it was.

"What about Edythe?" Olivia says as I attempt to get situated by slipping my dress back on all my own—I guess I couldn't get any help tying the laces anymore. "I'll bet if she pled guilty, they'd make her do rehab for three months and that'd be the end of it..."

I hear my mother sigh, and her eyes on me as she looking over. I did my best not to look at her—she'd successfully ruined my night, and that had been her intention all along, that was clear. All she cared about were the bio kids she'd had with my dad, and I would play second fiddle to them no matter what. My mind flashed ahead, and I wondered what would happened if they found themselves in a similar situation to this one...

"Arrest her," she tells Olivia.

My stomach drops, turning to look at my mother, who looks totally and completely unemotional as Olivia sighs.

Olivia nods, knowing she must do her job. "Done." She mercifully waits until I've finished dressing, and Olivia stepped towards me and takes me by the arm, and I swing around to face her, my eyes pleading, something that Olivia takes little to no notice of. "Edythe Grayson, you're under arrest for juvenile drug possession," she says, leading me away from my mother—who, meanwhile, is looking at me like se doesn't even know me—and out of there.

"What the hell, Mom?!" I demand, my voice cracking.

Olivia takes no notice and continues pulling on me out of the hotel room, amid my screams of protest. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney," Olivia continues as the elevator doors open.

"Mom!" I scream. "What are you doing this to me, you fucking bitch?!" I yell, and my mother takes no notice. Olivia continues as if she hasn't been interrupted, "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you..." She says until the doors close with a slam.

I was promptly locked up in juvenile detention, as soon as Olivia had dropped me off; I said nothing as I was taken in. I remember the guards laughing at me when I appeared in my dress; if it hadn't been winter, they would've guessed I was involved in some prom night scheme, although my birth certificate would have said otherwise. I filled out the damned paperwork, the question _Have you ever been raped_ stared out at me. I promptly checked 'yes' and finished the form; I barely even remember what half of it said. I handed over my personal belongings before being shown to the single stall, bolted window, ladies room, where I was given a slip to walk down the hall to be physically examined. I felt relief when it was a woman doing the exam, but not when she shook her head at me.

"Strip," she ordered, and I felt my last ounce of relief leaving me then.

Turning away from her, I took off the paper gown and the woman took it from me, throwing it into the trash can nearby. I was told to lift my arms and spread my legs, and I imagined myself on a faraway beach somewhere, doing a yoga pose with that Asian guy with the silky black hair, who always wore it in a long ponytail. The woman's hands on me were cold and unfeeling—which, I suppose, you would want in this situation—as they roved over the surface of my skin. Then, came the internal exam, right after she'd gone over my thighs. I stiffened automatically when she examined me both in front and in back, and she had the nerve to swat me on my ass when I dared to disturb her job.

I remained silent throughout the ordeal before she said I could stand normally again; I was then escorted to the showers next door by another guard, who took there while I methodically washed myself. I focused on the drab décor—the showers were done up in this pale-yellow tile that lacked emotion and appeared to be assembled quickly. The woman had gone to a linen cupboard across the bathroom and had gotten me out some clothes in my size—underwear, camisole, undershirt, pants, and a short-sleeved outer shirt, all in a gross, unappealing grayish-purple, which I was told to put on as soon as I got out of the shower.

 _Far cry from a ballgown_ , I thought ruefully, lowering my eyes to the cool, concrete floor as I dressed myself quickly. The woman took me by the arm again and brought me down the hall, out of the bathroom, and into what looked like a scary, cheap camp cabin. All the bunk bed frames were a weak, cheap metal with chipped paint, and the mattresses were some of the thinnest I'd ever seen. I was then given an additional sheet and thin blanket and told to go to sleep immediately, as it was after lights' out; I curled into a fetal position, and ignored any efforts made by the other girls to talk to me.

I had to wait until the following morning to move, and was promptly told that some strings had been pulled and I'd been granted a court date during wake up, which was at six a.m. I shivered; it was a cool morning and I guessed they didn't think that delinquent girls needed any form of heating; the uniforms—or jumpsuits, as I'd heard them called by the other girls—were a flimsy cotton material that didn't do any good at keeping you warm. I was led to the main room briefly, my dress returned, although in crummy condition; I was told a small would be waiting for me after an unappealing, uneventful breakfast. I was also told that the car would transport me to court, and I was led there by a male guard this time, one who grinned at me as he groped my breasts in one of the deserted hallways close to the front doors.

After I was put into the car, the driver said nothing to me, and, once we arrived, there was another guard waiting for me to bring me inside. Once I stepped out, the man had me by the arm and took me in via a back door, and I immediately saw old-timey cells. At once, I began to thrash—no way. No way in hell...

"No!" I screamed, trying to get away, getting flashbacks—one of my punishments as a very little girl, before I was adopted, Jake would lock me up in these dog crates originally meant for Dobermans or something; needless so say, cages and I did not mix. "Don't put me in there!" I shouted.

Losing his patience, the guard unlocked the cell and threw me inside, locking the door behind me. "Keep quiet about that, you little bitch," he hissed through his teeth. "Someone like you? You'll be back. Besides, no one would believe a drug addict about mistreatment, now would they?" he asked, his cruel laughter still echoing in my head as he walked off.

My tears keep my cheeks warm; it was at least another hour until my hearing, so I could only sit in various places of the cell. Sobbing, I rocked back and forth upon the insignificant little wooden bench—attached to the wall, of course—provided, and cross my fingers for something good to happen.

I must've fallen asleep, because the next thing I'm aware of is expensive shoes clicking on the floor. Looking up, I see two familiar people are being brought to the back where I am located, and I feel the onset of tears come when I spot that my mother is one of them. Her eyes rove over me then, and widen at the sight of my dress—frightfully dirty—as tears fall down her cheeks.

"Mom!" I shout, tears flowing freely down my face as I gets to my feet, gripping the bars of the cell in front of me.

"Sweetheart," she says, all her resolve appearing to have gone as the door is unlocked and she and some gentleman clad in an expensive, Armani suit step inside there with me. I immediately throw my arms around her and weep onto her suit jacket.

"I'm so, so sorry, Mom!" I say, sobbing. "I didn't mean to, I swear!" I pull back then when I fully sense John behind her, and hastily look him up and down. "I'm not... You're not...? Who is that?"

"John Buchanan," the man says, putting out his hand. "I'm an attorney, and I work for your mother. I'm here to represent you."

"Attorney?" I whispers, turning to look at my mother.

"He's the best, sweetheart."

"If you tell me the whole, honest truth," John tells me quietly, "I promise you that you will not spend another moment in jail, and that you can go home with your mother today."

I look at my mother in fear. "The whole truth?"

She nods. "That's the only way to resolve this, sweetheart."

I sigh, shaking. "Okay. Okay, I'll tell you everything." I sit down at the wooden table in the center of the cell, and John and my mother move to sit with me. "Ryder was a friend from school—a senior—before he dropped out last spring. Ryder was...he was different," I say, lowering her eyes. "At first, it was just some drinks —fruity ones, I couldn't even taste the alcohol, and I never had more than one or two. Within a few weeks, I was getting blackout drunk—I couldn't tell you what went on after that, although I do remember waking up the next day with my skirt and pantyhose or tights torn and feeling sore down there..."

"Did you ever bleed?" John asks, looking up from his notes.

"Not unless it was that time of the month," I reply, meeting John's eyes. "I lost my virginity—for lack of a better word—when I was about six. My birth mother's boyfriend raped me, and I was stuck in that situation for almost a year until I was brought out of there. My maternal grandmother got custody of me, but she was murdered and my biological dad's dead, and after my biological mom lost her rights to me, Mom adopted me..."

"I'm caught up now," John tells me gently. "Go on."

"After the blackouts, which lasted for a good three or four months, I wanted something harder," I say, going into a fetal position—I begin shaking, feeling utterly and completely ashamed. "I started smoking..."

"Cigarettes?" John asks.

I sigh. "Yeah—for about a week or two. They didn't do anything for me, and Ryder told me to give it some time. By that time, I was desperate, and he gave me a joint and I never looked back." Tears filled my eyes, remembering what it was like, trying to get the edge off, but having to lie to my parents about it, all of it, everything. "It was about six weeks later that I'd graduated to cocaine—nothing's like snorting the stuff... Like some crushed up diamonds..."

"How long until you tried heroin?" John asks.

"About two months later," I replies.

"Did you remember to bring her journal?" John asks me.

I watch as my mother removes it from her briefcase and I gasp a little. "Trust me," she tells me as John takes it from her.

"Does this detail your drug use?"

"And sexual exploits," I confess, mortified.

John nods. "Good. We can enter it into evidence." He goes through it meticulously and manages to figure out the timeline for my drug use and sexual escapades. "And it says that about five months ago, you received an abortion from a free clinic?" he asks, no judgement in his tone.

My mother nearly squeaks in shock.

That had been six months after I'd been raped on the subway, and when we'd been on the cruise. How had I managed to do so without knowing the language, you ask? Well...

"Edythe..." My mother begins.

"Yes," I say, ignoring her outburst. "It was Ryder's baby..."

"Edythe!" my mother cries out, and I know full well that she is doing the math in her mind. "We were in Sweden..."

"English is a second language of Sweden," John says softly.

I turn her eyes to hers. "Du är inte den enda flerspråkiga i familjen, mamma," I say; I am telling her that I was not the only one in the family capable of speaking more than one language.

She nearly falls out of her chair at the sound of me speaking perfect Swedish. It dawned on her then that perhaps that Rosetta Stone program had not been a waste of money at all, but that was beside the point. I had had an abortion—an abortion! —at the age of only fourteen.

"And after the abortion?" John asks.

"I thought that since we were on the cruise, I could try to get clean," I say in a rush then. "I managed to stay sober and drug-free for weeks, because the lowest legal drinking age is sixteen and, let's face it, I couldn't pass for that old yet. Given the rate I'm going with the drinking and the drugging, if I can't stop, I'll be looking as old as I feel," I say softly, shaking my head. "After the cruise, I hooked up with Ryder again... He told me that he loved me, and I believed him. I remembered just losing control at school, and it got to the point where I was asking my teachers once every class to let me use the bathroom so I could shoot up or whatever suited my fancy that day in the girls' bathroom. Mostly heroin—that stuff doesn't really have a scent—or coke. Pot was too dangerous," I say with a little giggle then, and remember him talking about dangerous and save environments and stuff like that when it came to drug culture. "You gotta stick your head out the window, learned that the hard way, and got in big trouble..."

"I didn't know about this," my mother says.

I laugh then, and I realize that I still must have come of the cocaine in my system, which could be there for two to four days. "That's because Mr. Jameson caught me," I say. "You know, that seventeen-year-old child genius student teacher Mrs. Walsh has in her class... Caught me," I say, raising a fake gun to my head and pulling the trigger, "red-handed."

"Did you sleep with Mr. Jameson that day?" John Buchanan asks.

I nod. "That day and every day," I reply. "I call him Todd now—Toddy if he's being _especially_ well-behaved..."

"Where do you two do it?" John asks.

My mother looks sick to her stomach, but I ignore her.

"The teacher's lounge," I reply effortlessly. "That was during the weekend and Todd would turn off the cameras," I say, shrugging a little. "But mostly we'd do it in his little office—I think it used to be a broom closet or something. He's _so_ good, Mr. Buchanan," I tell him with a giggle. "So, _so_ good..."

"All right," John says, not dwelling on it. "Keep going."

After another few minutes—and knowing far too much about my mother's reaction to my personal life—I watch as my mother digs into her briefcase for the new outfit she'd brought for me. She produced my school uniform and I was also permitted a shower, by my mother calling in a favor. After my shower, I allowed my mother to brush my hair out and braid it. I knew then that we were trying to get the sympathy vote, and I watch as she forces herself to tear myself away from me, and I wonder then about the love between mothers and daughters, and how deep it runs as I am permitted to wait with John until my hearing as my mother leaves us to step outside.

We are permitted inside the courtroom a few minutes later, and John whispers for me not to speak unless directly spoken to. He says that he and I can speak to one another, but only in a whisper. Unless, of course, I don't want to risk something being heard, I can slip him a note, for him to speak on me behalf. Turning, I notice my mother sitting with Olivia and Fin, and I force myself not to lash out at them—they were, after all, just doing their jobs.

The bailiff steps forward at the appointed time as the door to the judges' chambers opens. "They all rise for Judge Elizabeth Donnelly," he states.

"Judge Donnelly?!" I hear my mother squeak from behind me.

"Called in a favor," John Buchanan whispers from next to me.

"You call that a favor?" Fin says quietly. "She censured him last time around when we were all here..."

Judge Donnelly steps into the courtroom, her judge robes pristine as she steps into her place and moves her paperwork in front of her. "Be seated," she says softly, moving to do so herself. "I'll hear your thoughts on bail..."

Immediately, my hackles rise as the ADA decides to strut their stuff and paint an inaccurate picture of me. "Your Honor, Miss Grayson's parents are a captain in Internal Affairs and Captain Grayson of Manhattan Homicide, as well as her uncle being a decorated FBI agent, meaning that she could have ample opportunity to run," they say. "We request remand."

"Your Honor, my client is a minor—she's fifteen-years-old. We're not disputing the occupation of her parents, however the both of them are committed to the law and don't wish to see their daughter hurt. We request ROR on the condition that she pleads guilty to one count of possession and one count of the taking of the drugs themselves—one count per drug, meaning three counts. Miss Grayson will surrender her passport and remain in the custody of her mother and father, who are both prepared to take time off work."

"ROR does seem appropriate in this situation," Judge Donnelly says, turning to look at the ADA.

"ROR on the condition that the plea is entered now, and we can be done with all of this," the ADA states.

"Mr. Buchanan?" Judge Donnelly asks.

John whispers to me, and I nod and whisper back to him. "Your Honor, my client has asked permission to allocute."

"Granted," Judge Donnelly says.

I leave John Buchanan's side and move stand before the judge. "I didn't know for a long time what the definition of right or wrong was, Your Honor," I begin quietly. "It is said that we learn from our parents, and I was not originally blessed with Hunter and Maggie Grayson as my mother and father. I tried my best to deal with the hand dealt to me, and instead of protection, I was rewarded with selfishness, neglect, physical, and sexual abuse. The sexual abuse came from my mother's live-in boyfriend, and it all began just a few months after I turned six. It was an alcohol and drug-filled environment and I didn't know any better; even though I was adopted when I was very young, I still never fully healed from all the abuse—my mother's boyfriend had a gang of pedophiles who would all takes turns with me. I went to therapy, but stopped when I believed that the therapist was making inappropriate advances towards me. I became a sexualized being a few months after I turned thirteen, giving oral sex here and there to begin to get my fixes," I goes on, shivering ever so slightly. "By the time I turned fourteen, I was raped, and the hospital was shocked to discover that I'd been sexually active in the past, and I had to divulge to authority figures again. When Ryder Knox came into my life, I thought I had at last found someone who was hurting as much as I was. I ended up lying to my parents, telling them that another guy was my boyfriend, and that I had a circle of girlfriends as well. But whenever I'd leave the house to do homework or to have a sleepover, I'd go to Ryder's crack den in Harlem to get high and drunk. I was beaten and raped if the others I was trying to sell to would steal my merchandise, or to those who wouldn't pay for having sex with me. I thought it was all right, what I was doing, because I was so consumed with it that I lost touch—I lost who I truly was." I sighed a little and I felt my shoulders shaking as I cried. "Just after one night in jail, I know I don't want to go back there, but I know I have to pay for what I've done. I know I should be punished, so please, just be quick about it. I'm guilty; I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict, and I know that I should be punished accordingly. I am so sorry to the people I've hurt..." I turn around then. "Mom, I'm so, so sorry—I love you... And I'm sorry for the laws I've broken," I go on, turning back to Judge Donnelly. "Thank you, Your Honor," I say before returning to my place beside John Buchanan.

Judge Donnelly sighs, and I can see she's quite moved by my performance. I watch as she looks over the paperwork in front of her, and I wonder if one of them is a form of permission slip for my mother to sign me away to a juvenile facility. She shuts the folder then, looking out at me and biting her lip. "You know, normally I need to return to chambers, but not this time. Edythe Grayson, please stand." She waits for me to stand. "You have pled guilty to your crimes, and obviously are ready to receive help. There's a treatment facility in New Haven, Connecticut that I think would be of help to you. It's a six-month treatment program, so you would have to do your schooling online, and they would help you set that up. When you return after treatment, you'll be on house arrest for the rest of the summer as a part of your treatment program. While you're in the treatment program, you will not have access to a computer—apart from your schooling—or a phone, apart from contacting your mother and father. If you don't break any laws between now and your eighteenth birthday, your records will be sealed and wiped clean. Is that understood, Miss Grayson?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I reply.

"Good. I'll call the treatment facility and make the arrangements. Families are permitted to visit every other weekend, pending good behavior," Judge Donnelly addresses my mother. "Will this be an issue for you?"

My mother gets to her feet. "No, Your Honor—and neither is it a financial one. My husband and I would do anything for Edythe to be well again."

Judge Donnelly nods, and she turns back to me; she is firm but fair, I can see that now. "One other thing as a condition for your probation, Miss Grayson, is that you must attend weekly teenage AA meetings and substance abuse meetings until your eighteenth birthday. When your records are sealed and wiped, you will be able to decide otherwise. I will also recommend for some therapists for you to see, and you two can decide accordingly," she states, bringing me back into the decision-making. "Understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," my mother and I say together.

"Good. Case dismissed," Judge Donnelly says, slamming her gavel down and going back into her chambers.

I immediately fly through the divider separating my mother and I and throw myself into her arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I crow.

She smiles, kissing her temple. "You really should be thanking John Buchanan," she tells me quickly. "He's the one who did all this."

"All part of my job," John says, chuckling. He places his hand upon my shoulder and squeezes it. "I never want to see you again under these circumstances, young lady—is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Buchanan," I says quickly.

He nods. "Good. Maggie," he says, nodding.

"John, wait," she says, quickly getting out her checkbook, scrawling a series of numbers into the correct box, and I wonder then if she is doubling his fee—which would be most appropriate at this point. "Take the wife out, and get your kids something nice," she says, handing it over to him.

John's eyes fill with tears as he sees the amount. "Thank you, Maggie," he says with a little sigh. "You're a good woman Maggie—remember that well, now, Edythe," John says with a look of mock-severity before going out of the courtroom doors.

LEIA'S POV

"So, that's it," I say to Chelsea, who managed to rush right over. "I officially have no idea who I am anymore. I'm convinced that either Carisi was pissed off that I knew about Fin..." I then look up, locking my gaze with hers, and ask, "Did you know about Fin?"

Chelsea nods. "Yes. Yes, I knew about Fin."

I dig my fingers into the wool afghan on the couch, which I have inexplicably pulled over me, despite my sensitive skin. "And when did our mother feel the need to share that information?"

"When you were pregnant with Alexandrine," Chelsea says softly. "I remember, it was the day they found out, as a matter of fact. They came home and confronted me on the facemail messages and things went into a downward spiral after that. It was all very confusing..."

"How?" I ask, softly.

"Well, Mom and Dad came back to the house. I had the day off from classes and was home, while Felicity, Fin, and Hunter had gone off somewhere—I think they were at school, had to have been. Anyhow, Dad was livid and pretty soon just got into his car and drove off; Mom said he needed some time alone. She just sat next to me and we watched T.V. for a while, and then she suddenly started crying out of left field. I remember I was trying to awkwardly comfort her, but I found I was at a loss for what to do..."

"What did you do?" I ask her.

"I told her things would eventually work themselves out," she replied. "I told her that she would be okay..."

"And what did she say?"

"She said that she thought my lies and deception were out of line... But then I said that I couldn't have been the only liar within the family. Then she told me about Fin—it all came spilling out, really. She said that she didn't want anyone else to know about it, and I said that I wouldn't say anything."

"And she didn't let on about Fin not being the only child fathered by Dad?" I ask her, my voice barely inching above a whisper.

"She didn't," Chelsea replied. "I'm sorry."

I nod, dashing the tears out of my eyes. "No, it's fine. It's not on you here. I mean, you and I, we've made up. We're even."

Chelsea shakes her head. "Not quite," she says, dipping her hand into a limited-edition plum-colored Frauda purse with a golden clasp. "Here."

I reach out and take the piece of paper she's offered me; it is a check, made out to me, for a total of a solid million dollars. I turn and look at her, shocked. "What is this?" I ask her.

"That's the money I blackmailed you for, plus interest," she replies. "It was a rotten thing I did, and I don't condone it whatsoever. Besides, I have a small favor to ask you."

"Oh, I see," I say, laughing. "Okay. What do you want or need? Want me to fix a few parking tickets for you?"

Chelsea shakes her head. "No. No, I want you to be my Maid of Honor."

"But I thought you and Charmaine were already married..."

"That was a courthouse ceremony where we became domestic partners," Chelsea tells me with a small laugh. "No, we actually have the time and the money for the wedding of our dreams. So, will you be our Maid of Honor?"

"Sure," I reply. "Do I have to plan your bachelorette party?"

"No, it's more of an honorary title until we can figure out a better one for you—Charmaine's little sister Pippa is planning the party, because she's this upscale even planner."

"What do you want me to do, then?" I ask.

"Charmaine and I were thinking that maybe you could officiate the ceremony," she replies with a smile. "Owen was going to walk me down the aisle—well, if he says yes, and I just hope Dad won't mind..."

I smile, reaching out and taking Chelsea's hands. "It's going to be entirely about you and Charmaine," I reply. "Dad shouldn't matter."

Chelsea smiles at that. "Thanks. I really appreciate the support."

"Where were you thinking about having the ceremony? Do you know yet?" I ask, wanting to have a normal conversation with my sister for once.

"The Alger House," she replies with pride. "Charmaine and I actually had an event there a few years back, and that's where I proposed. We're calling it a Full-Circle Ceremony."

I nod. "Clever," I reply. "Well, I absolutely cannot wait to marry the two of you. I just have to get ordained online. But, Chels, you know I'm not religious or anything, so I couldn't do a Christian thing..."

"Oh, well I'm not anything either," Chelsea says with a laugh. "And Charmaine is a non-practicing Jew, so it's not like we need anything about 'the Lord' this and 'God sayeth' that. Don't worry—Charmaine and I actually want you to write our own vows."

I laugh a little at that. "Chels, I'm flattered, but with all due respect, I haven't spent much time with either of you."

"I know," Chelsea replies. "Which is why I was thinking about starting a new Christmas tradition."

"What kind of Christmas tradition?"

"Well, Charmaine and I bought this incredible house on Nantucket two summers ago but never got a chance to use it. We have some time free over the holidays, so maybe you and Owen want to come and bring the kids? You do have a nanny, don't you, so we can go on couple's dates?"

"Sylvia is a college student who doesn't have any discernable family," I tell her. "I will ask her and Owen and get back to you."

"Good," Chelsea says as her phone beeps. "Damn," she says, checking it. "Lacey Belle just tripped on her maxi canary yellow skirt and it's officially blowing up social media... I have to go and fix this."

"No problem," I reply, walking her to do the door. Upon opening it, Chelsea and I mutually gasp when our mother is standing there.

"I was just leaving," Chelsea says, and moves out into the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

I fix my mother with a look. "Can I help you?"

She sighs. "We really need to talk."


	7. Live Once, Die Twice

Chapter Seven: Live Once, Die Twice

"Victim's being held at gunpoint!" Carisi says as I arrive on the scene with my new partner, Lavinia.

"Who is the victim? Do we know yet?" I ask as Lavinia surveys the damage done to the building.

"Christina Harper, seventeen, heir to—"

"Joshua Harper, the architect mogul," Lavinia replies. "He's my fiancé Paxton's partner in their architecture firm."

"You know him?" Carisi asks.

Lavinia nods. "Yeah, for about five years or so. That's when Paxton was wining and dining him, trying to get him to invest in his firm. Now it's a top-three firm in New York, all because of Harper's investments..."

"With your mom on loan to Hostage Negotiations for the next two weeks, it's my call as Lieutenant of SVU to decide what to do next," Carisi reports to me as Lavinia looks up at the building again.

"I could go up," Lavinia suggests, stepping forward. "It'd be better for me to go up, anyhow. I have history with Christina..."

"The suspect could use that against you," I reply without missing a beat before turning to Carisi. "Send me up."

"I don't know," Carisi replied. "You're married, plus you've got three kids. It's not the best idea..."

I step forward then, narrowing my eyes at Carisi. "Both my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother put their lives on the line more times than I can count. You knew them all, and served under three of them. You know how our family works, Carisi—we're dedicated to the job in an endless manner. Send me in there."

Carisi looks shocked at my declaration. "I haven't seen someone that fearless since Liv was Captain of SVU," he says quietly. He looks up at the building again for a moment before he nods. "While your comradery with the victim could help in this situation, Lavinia, I'm afraid that it's not enough. We're going with anonymity for the safety of the suspect."

Lavinia sighs. "Understood, lieutenant."

Carisi takes ahold of my arm and brings me up towards the SWAT team, which is stationed at the glass double doors of the building. "Get her outfitted with a vest and anything else needed to ensure this goes smoothly," he orders, and almost immediately the team sets to work. Carisi stands guard beside me until I've been dressed to kill, and brings me up to the doors themselves. "I've been told that they're on the twenty-fifth floor."

"Top floor?" I ask, placing my hand upon the door handle.

"Affirmative," Carisi replies.

I nod, stepping forward. "Okay," I reply. I pull open the door and step inside, moving quickly across the foyer and walking towards the elevator. Just as I reach out to push the elevator button, I turn and give a final look outside. I feel my lips part automatically, wanting to say something as I see my mother stepping out of a car just behind Carisi. I turn and look at the elevator doors, now open before me, and raise my hand to my mother, giving her a smile as I step inside and press the proper button.

EDYTHE'S POV

A mother's love is everything to a child; you want it so much, and when you don't have it, it's devastating. When you do, it's like your birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. All you can do is be exactly what they want, when they want, and then everything in life seems to resolve itself. I remember basking in the glow of my mother's love, and, despite our differences, I missed her every damn day of my life. She knew we were different, and although she attempted to mold me into something I wasn't, there was never a dull moment on the job with her, no matter what the topic or situation...

"The final paperwork for your transfer came today," she says, pushing the personal aside and getting right down to business.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

She smiles. "It means you can go on big, undercover assignments now, with Noelle or on your own. Now you're officially my employee, so you don't need a partner as supervision but protection."

"Do you have something in mind?" I asked, wondering if recent developments would not permit any assignments in particular.

She smiles. "Remember that assignment I did with Fin?"

I nod. "Of course—you did it because of me."

"Damn right I did—and I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she says, reaching out her hand and I took it. "You, your siblings, and your father are the most important things in the world to me—I want you to remember that."

I nod. "I remember. Now, what do you have for me?"

"Narcotics has a new captain, Rebecca Lyons—I knew her when she and I were still detectives. Anyhow, since Noelle and her brother Parker are so close, Parker mentioned your ability to get Ryder to talk. Rebecca got her hands on a copy of the footage from Barba and was really impressed with you, Edythe."

I raise my eyebrows. "That's very generous of Captain Lyons."

My mother smiled. "It is. Anyhow, Parker's been given an assignment to help infiltrating one of the groups of Ryder's men. I need you to go in there as Parker's on-again-off-again girlfriend to help him with the bust."

"Wait a minute—couldn't these guys potentially recognize me after my days of giving them favors in exchange for drug ingredients? Besides, Ryder must have men on the inside and the outside that he stays in contact with..."

My mother nods. "Yes, I know. Which is why we thought of that already," she says as there's a tap on her door and I am shocked when Paulo comes inside and waves to me. "After seeing how wonderful a job Paulo did on you the last time you had to go undercover—without my knowledge beforehand, but it's in the past, so we won't dwell on it—I knew I had to find out who Paulo was."

"I was shocked that a woman so young and lively could have a daughter in their twenties, Edythe, but once she explained the adoption, I was up to speed," Paulo replies with a laugh.

"I've hired Paulo as Manhattan Homicide's new stylist," my mother continues swiftly. "He has been trained over the summer to go over cases where men and women have had severe drug addictions and to learn about makeup, hair, skin, habits, and general fashion style," says my mother in a proud voice. "He's ready to take you on and transform you into a fake woman for the assignment. Your code name is Raven Serena Underwood."

"Not highlighted, though, right?" I ask as Paulo plays with my hair, which I'd had trimmed to an inch and a half below my shoulders.

"Oh, no honey—your hair's too dark for that," Paulo says, tutting to himself as he inspects my roots.

My mother chuckles at the double meaning. "No, honey—Serena is your middle name and Raven is your first name."

I nod. "Gotcha," I reply, managing to get Paulo to stop fussing. "But there's one thing we should discuss..."

My mother turns at the sound of her phone vibrating. "Whatever it is can wait until your assignment is over..."

"That's the thing," I reply as Paulo proceeds to fuss again. "How long is this thing going to last?"

She shrugs, writing a text or email reply before turning back to look at me. "You know as well as I do, Edythe, that these things can take weeks. Remember, I couldn't bring you into my home right away during my assignment because the social services didn't want you alone with your father..."

"It's just that if this thing lasts months, we're going to have a real problem on our hands—like, a severe problem..."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Whatever it is, it can be taken care of—what's the problem here, Edythe?"

I bite my lip and look at Paulo, and my mother visibly stiffens. My heart sinks when she tells him to excuse us for a moment, and Paulo leaves down the hall where I assume his office is. I turn back to my mother, and sigh. "I'm sorry," I reply, shaking my head, "this isn't how I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell Lincoln first, but since Henrietta's accident and us coming home weeks earlier than expected, it's been a trying time..."

My mother sighs. "I know it can't be easy—none of us were prepared to lose her, darling." She shakes her head. "How's Leia adjusting?"

"As well as can be expected... Lincoln and I are up late every night talking about what's best for her. She loves the house, but the question about where Henrietta is just keeps coming up in conversation..."

"Have you discussed what you're going to do?"

"Of course, all the time. I really want to adopt her, and since her sperm donor father doesn't have any rights, and her grandparents are deceased and Henrietta's only other sibling is Barney, and he doesn't have any interest in adopting Leia—sad, but true—we're the only other option..."

"You want to be a mother?" my mother asks.

I lock my eyes with hers. "This isn't how I wanted to answer that question," I say, letting out a sigh. "Like I said, Lincoln doesn't even know..."

"Lincoln doesn't know you want to adopt Leia?"

"No, he doesn't know yet—not fully, anyway..."

"Then what are you—?" she asks, and suddenly cuts herself off. "Edythe Isabelle Beckett, do you mean to tell me that you're...?"

I nod. "Yes. Yes, Mom. I'm lying to my husband already..."

My mother runs her hands through her hair briefly before looking me over. "How long have you wanted to...?"

"Immediately," I reply. "Who wouldn't?"

My mother sighs. "I suppose you're right..."

I nod. "Yes," I say quietly. "I just want Leia to be safe and happy, but I don't know how to tell Lincoln..."

"Well, you didn't tell Lincoln, obviously," my mother says.

I roll my eyes. "You're right—I didn't. It was just after our honeymoon got interrupted—what was I supposed to tell him?"

"The truth?"

I shake my head. "No. When we were in Italy, in not so many words, he said that he wanted to hold off on having kids for a while. I couldn't tell him; and we went on all these excursions that the days just got away from us. We were so tired that we hardly slept together for the rest of the honeymoon and the rest of the time, he was getting calls from work. And then we got the phone call about Henrietta's accident and that was that..."

"What about after? It's been weeks," my mother says, a bit impatiently. "Leia had her initial adjustment period, along with Lincoln opening up another branch of the practice on Long Island to be closer to her," I reply. "It's all been very hectic since the homecoming, Mom," I say, shaking my head. "I would've told you sooner, but all this would've been a lot to unload in just one phone call, and I wasn't even intending on telling you—"

"Edythe!" she cries, hurt.

"—until after I broke the news to Lincoln, which I was going to do, until he got buried in this new case," I say, wishing she would wait before interrupting me. "I know it's not ideal, especially now, but everything is complicated and I'm feeling a little lost right now."

"I know it must not be easy," she says after a period of silence. "Lincoln working all the time... Have you asked him to take it easy and to pay more attention to you and to Leia?"

I shrug. "Doesn't do much good," I reply. "All he does is say that we took off so much time for the summer that he might lose the clientele he's had these last few years if he continues slacking off."

My mother sighs. "I remember when your father and I were first starting out—it was so hard, especially when the argument of competence came up in the office setting. I remember we constantly had to act like virtual strangers when it came to our everyday professional lives. He and I, in the beginning, couldn't keep our hands off each other—I know this might be weird to hear, but let's face it, sweetheart, we're both adults here."

I shrug. "Doesn't bother me," I reply.

"I think we both became so wrapped up in our work that we lost sight of who we really were," she tells me. "When he transferred to IAB, I couldn't wait for him to go—that was when I'd decided to file for divorce and full custody of you, Livi, and Donnie, although you had your own choice to make. I was touched that you wanted to stay with me..."

I sigh. "I suppose since my record have been wiped clean, I can be honest with you now..."

"What?"

"I stayed with you _because_ you were so preoccupied," I reply. "Face it, Mom—I was an addict, and you were my enabler."

My mother sighs, mixing it with a laugh and shaking her head. "Yeah," she says. "I suppose you'd be correct in that statement." She runs her hand along her cherry wood desk, which she has since perched upon. "I don't regret adopting you, sweetheart, I just wish I was a bit older. Let's face it—half the time I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

"It's all a learning curve, Mom."

She smiles. "Are we graded on a curve? Parents?"

"The normal ones and the ones who exceed expectations are."

"And your biological parents?"

I fix her with a look. "We don't have to go there, do we?" "Point taken," she replies. "Listen, honey, if you don't want to do the assignment because of Leia, I understand. Just go over every detail with Noelle and we'll tweak your backstory a bit—Raven Underwood can be Parker's sister while undercover."

I raise an eyebrow. "But their surnames..."

"Half-sister—whatever," my mother says, all-business again as she circles back around her desk and sits.

I bite my lip. "Leia's pediatrician and grief counselor says the transition period is going well," I reply. "Is there any way that I could be snuck out of the operation on nights to go back home to Leia and Lincoln? I know it's a lot to ask, but, as I'm sure you can understand, money is no object."

My mother sighs. "You'd have to go through a trial period," she replies. "As in, the gang would have to trust you. Before that, you're stuck with them."

"How long did it take?" I ask her.

"How long did what take?"

"When you went under with Fin," I reply. "How long did it take before they seemed to trust you?"

"It was quick, because that division's leader had me believing he was a British investigator undercover," she replies. "However, your father understood that I had to be there constantly—we said our goodbyes beforehand. Fin was completely overprotective and said that me entering into a relationship with this agent wasn't a good idea, even though it was all for getting information. I just remember being told to tie up loose ends before I went under..."

"What kinds of loose ends?"

She smiles sadly, lowering her eyes. "I spoke with a lawyer about transferring my custody of you to your father. They said that since he worked in law enforcement that he would still be considered as a good parent..."

"You never told me that," I reply.

She shakes her head at the notion. "It's not something you really talk about—it's just understood that every day you put your life on the line for the protection of innocent people."

"Do you ever wish you became an actress?" I want to know.

My mother chuckles lightly at that. "Oh, you know, maybe—now and again, as the years went by. After a long day that wasn't a very good one, I suppose the thought crosses my mind every so often. But I know full well that if I'd decided that path, I'd still be under my parent's thumb in some way. I became myself when I took this job."

"Became yourself?"

"Exactly," she replies. "My mother was so old-fashioned that she thought certain jobs were only for women."

"That's insane!" I cry. "She was a plastic surgeon—a kind of doctor!" My mother laughs. "Which is what I told her, but she was under the impression that it was an advanced form of a beautician technician—her words, not mine—and so it qualified as a woman's job."

I shake my heads. "I really hate how other generations automatically assume that they always know best..."

My mother reaches across her desk again and takes my hand. "Well, honey, you yourself think that you know best."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

"And how about this assignment?" she asks. "Should we give it to Noelle, or do you want it?"

"My call?" I ask.

"Your call."

I sigh. "I'll take it."

"We can't always guarantee your protection," she tells me. "And you'd have to explain as much to Lincoln."

I nod. "I know," I reply. "I just don't know which bombshell would be more appropriate to drop first..."

She smiles. "You'll know when the time is right," she tells me.

LEIA'S POV

I look down and find myself staring down at the abysmal carpeting this elevator has to offer. Around its perfect rectangular shape are those golden outlines you never seem to know how shiny they will turn out to be. The pattern itself looks to be lines in varying directions and colors, stitched into a dirt-brown color. As I roll my heels onto it as the elevator continues climbing, I sigh, watching the red numbers of the floor indicator, climbing from single to double in a matter of just a few seconds.

The doors chime as the elevator does its job and brings me to the previously agreed upon floor. They come open immediately, and I step into a foyer with highly-polished, cream-colored tiles on the floor. White pillars dot the floor every few feet, reminding me more of a Greek castle than a skyscraper in New York. As planned, I've put bullets in various places, hidden on my person, while I will empty my gun in front of the shooter, so that I'll always be armed. I also have a few concealed weapons as well, so as I'll be able to keep Christina safe. Stepping closer and closer around the bend, I begin to hear Christina's cries and begs for mercy, all behind plate-glass windows of an office.

I felt my stomach drop as I stepped closer, as I saw for the first time who it was that was threatening Christina, holding her in a vice-like grip with a gun to her temple, not letting go, and likely getting off to her cries of pain. "Son of a bitch escaped or got out of jail," I whispered, throwing myself behind a wall before either of them could see me. "Carisi," I hiss into my radio. "Carisi! It's Detective Torrance! Do you copy?"

"We got you loud and clear, Torrance," Carisi assures me on the other end. "Tell me—what do you got?"

"The name of the suspect," I say, peeking out from around the corner, so as to check and see if they've seen me yet—they hadn't.

"You know him?" Carisi ask. "Or did you recognize his M.O.?"

"Neither," I reply. "My mother knows him."

"Your mother?" Carisi demands as static greets my ears. "Hold on..."

"Honey, it's me," my mother says into my radio. "What are you talking about? I need to know who the suspect is..."

"Ryder Knox," I reply. "I remember you showed me that article that _The Times_ wrote after Grandma..." I deliberately cut myself off, not wanting to bring back any bad memories for her. "I know it's him—I saw the tattoo on his forearm, and that god-awful red streak to his hair. It's him, Mom. I'm positive."

"Get Christina out of there quickly," my mother tells me. "Do your best—and don't you dare get shot!"

"On it, love you, too," I say, concealing my radio again. I go around the corner carefully, noticing that Ryder is positioned himself to the windows facing outside and seems to be threatening to kick one out and to kill Christina. "Not on my watch," I mutter to myself, inching forward. The door is partially open, and I know that if I can sneak across the office, pistol-whip Ryder, grab Christina, and get his gun away from him, then everything will work itself out. I slip in though the crack in the door, and just as in inch across the office floor, the hairs on the back of my neck become erect as Ryder inhales.

"Ah, delicious," he says softly into Christina's hair. "It can't be Edythe Grayson, now can it?"

 _Sick son of a bitch_ , I think to myself. "No," I reply. "Not even close."

Ryder turns around then, still keeping his grip upon Christina, whose blue eyes are flooded with tears. He chuckles, his laugh causing Christina to shake ever so slightly from the movement. "I should've known that Edythe would pro-create eventually, and have herself a family..."

"No thanks to you," I reply, bitterly. "If you had it your way, you'd have had her be your little errand girl forever."

Ryder chuckles. "She was happy to do it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? How do you know that? Did you compensate her for all she did for you?"

"In drugs," Ryder says, pulling Christina closer and inhaling the sweat from her hair follicles. "Your mother cost me a pretty penny when it came to the stash I'd slowly accumulated over the years. All I know is, she liked getting freaky, if you know what I mean..."

"Cut the crap," I say, forcing my voice to remain bitingly calm. "I know about the rapes, Knox. Don't even try to get out of it."

"It wasn't rape!" Ryder yelled at me, causing Christina to sob quietly in his firm grip around her. "That bitch wanted it! She'd damn near beg for it when she was in one of her moods!"

I feel myself shaking at his words—not in fear, but in anger. What gave him the right to say such things to my mother?!

Ryder laughed at me. "Probably sampled the delights of the nasty yourself," he says, kissing Christina's temple, just below where his gun was pointed. "I see that I've frightened you—that's all right. Once I have a bit more fun with Christina here, it'll be your turn. You'll like it," he assures me, his tone full of mirth. "Trust me, you'll like it—just like your mother did."

I found that, in that moment, I was unable to stop myself, and this seemed to surprise Ryder completely. I ran for him then, causing him to retreat in the direction of the back wall. "Let her go!" I screamed, and to my surprise, he did let Christina go, and she stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Get out of here," I tell her, my eyes locked on Ryder. As Christina ran out, I ran towards him, knocking the gun from his hand and shoving him up against the wall with all of my weight, causing his ugly eyes to bug out at me. "You'll find that I'm not some frightened girl for you to play with!" I hiss up at him; I was nearly a foot shorter than he was, but due to my vigorous combat training, I knew I could take him easily.

Ryder tried to inch away from me. "Really, I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up," I say to him from between my teeth.

Something clicks from my abdomen then, and I feel something metallic being pushed into me then. "You," he whispers to me, and decisively fires into my stomach without mercy.

I made a grab for him then, ignoring the telltale warmth and seeping feeling of something and threw him onto the table taking up most of the meeting room. I threw him so hard that a deep crack formed in its middle, splitting down the sides and echoing around the room, and Ryder lost control of his gun. "Did you rape Christina?" I hiss down at him, and find satisfaction at him whimpering like a baby. "Did you rape Christina Harper?!"

"Yes!" Ryder screamed, his eyes locking with mine. "And she liked it!" he said, his eyes full of crazed anger, before knocking his forehead with mine with full force and darting towards the door. As he ran, I tried to follow in a daze, but thankfully the son of a bitch tripped on his way out. But then, he was off like a light again, and I rushed to follow him.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls. "Hold it right there!" In that next moment, I saw Ryder reaching for something from his pocket as he turned around to face me—I recognized the handle of a gun. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my weapon and fired a round into his spine, and he collapsed to the ground. I felt relief wash through me then as the doors opened, and saw my mother and Carisi coming into the vicinity with a SWAT team.

"Get him to a bus," Carisi says as Ryder writhes on the ground.

Ryder moans, "I've been shot..."

"Shut up!" Carisi says, looking at him scathingly as Ryder moaned in an effort for sympathy. "You're lucky to be alive."

My mother runs to me then, smiling. "Christina's safe—en route to Mercy Hospital with Lavinia," she tells me.

I nod at her. "Good, good."

She looks me over. "Clean shot?"

"He confessed to raping Christina," I reply. "Warranted, I suppose. And then he tried to make a run for it. Check his pocket," I say to the SWAT team as a gurney is brought upstairs.

One of the guys snaps on a pair of gloves as Carisi stands by; he promptly removes the concealed gun I'd seen earlier. "We'll take this in to be examined," he tells us as Ryder is put onto a gurney. "We'll let you know as soon as we've got something to see if there are any bodies on it."

"Thanks," Carisi says appreciatively, before turning back to me. Suddenly, his pale eyes widen, and he steps closer. "Captain..."

My mother turns to look at him before following his eyes. Promptly, she rips off my vest and lets out a cry of shock. "Oh, my baby..."

It is then that I feel, without the pressure of the vest, something warm creeping forth out of me. Looking down, I see my own blood doing damage to the beautiful and shiny cream-colored tiles at my feet. I am shaking then, and whisper, "Mom, I need a bus..." before my knees buckle and I see black.

"She's coming out of it now," says an unfamiliar voice. "Now, I know everyone's anxious to see to her well-being, as well as getting her statement, but as her doctor, I take precedence for the moment." The voice, full of authority, matches Dr. Calloway's voice, I remember, as my eyes flutter open and she smiles down at me in a kind way. "Hello, Detective Torrance."

Looking around, I spot my mother and Owen in the room with my, and I sigh. "Is it all right if I speak to my doctor alone, please? Without an audience? I need time to decompress..."

Owen sighs. "It's your right," he replies, kissing me on the cheek. "Come on, Edythe."

"You're right," my mother says, clasping my hand before slipping out of there at Owen's heels.

I turn to Dr. Calloway and smile at her; despite the minor headache I have and the slight pain to my ribs when I breathe, I feel fine. "Clean bill of health?"

"Now," Dr. Calloway says, and sighs. She sits down next to me and opens the file folder and checks it over briefly before looking up at me. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Detective Torrance."

"If it's bad news, feel free to call me Leia," I tell her, shifting so as I'm in a more upright positon on the bed. "Tell me."

"It seems as though you were pregnant, Leia," she says quietly.

"Pregnant?" I demand.

"About three months," Dr. Calloway confirms, looking over my chart. "It says here that you delivered twins seven months ago..."

"Did... Did the bullet kill my baby?" I whisper, my voice shaking.

"From what we've gleaned from the test results is the bullet made immediate impact with your uterus, rupturing it completely and, I'm afraid, beyond any repair," she replied, her voice grave.

I feel my hands enclosing into fists along the cheap hospital comforter. It is a pale blue color, and is frayed at the edges. "You can detect gender at twelve weeks," I say, my voice a monotone.

"Yes, we can, but..."

The moment my eyes lock to hers, she senses that I will not be deterred. "Tell me, then, Dr. Calloway. What was the gender of my baby?"

She sighs. "It was a boy, Leia."

I nod then, ignoring the tears falling down my face. "Well, Owen and I weren't sure if we wanted more children anyhow. Oh, well. We have plenty of time to try again, if we..."

"No, Leia, you don't understand."

I look up at her, shaking my head. "What do you mean?"

"Everything was beyond our repair," she tells me gently.

I feel myself giving her a slight nod. "Everything, as in...?"

"We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy," Dr. Calloway replies, her voice small and light. "I'm so sorry—once the bullet tore through and caused your child to die upon impact, we were unable to do anything. If we hadn't gone in there within the time limit—we only have ten to thirty minutes—you would have bled out for sure. I'm so sorry, Leia."

I nod, feeling to tears dry up upon my cheeks. I raise my head up slightly, and, in a voice that is not my own, say, "Would you send in my P.I., please?"

Although shocked that I didn't immediately ask for my husband, Dr. Calloway gets to her feet and leaves me. Then, a balding man in his fifties comes into the room, a briefcase full of evidence with him.

"Tell me, what do you have?" I ask him.

"Discs of evidence," he informs me. "You were right."

I nod. "Right, then. Was it Nurse Phelps?"

"The one with the red hair?"

I nod. "Yes."

"'Fraid so," he replies. "Sorry about this, Detective Torrance."

I nod again. "Just put it in the closet. I'll be sure to ask my mother to take me home when I'm discharged."

"You got it," he replies, stowing the briefcase.

I lean forward. "My mother and husband believed the cover story? You're just an old friend of the family?"

The man nodded. "Your mother didn't ask, but your husband seemed to believe the story himself."

I give him a tight smile. "Good. I shall have the money wired to the account with the agreed upon stipend by the end of the week."

My P.I. steps forward. "Great doing business with you, detective."

"Thank you," I reply, shaking his hand. "The pleasure is mine. Now, will you send my mother in here, please?"

"You go it," he says again, leaving the room.

My mother enters in immediately, smiling at me and shutting the door behind her as she steps forward. "Which story do I want to hear first?"

"Let's see," I say, leaning back against the pillows. "One, that I suffered a miscarriage. Two, won't be able to have children naturally again. Three, that Owen is cheating on me. Or four, that I'm going to file for divorce?"


	8. Slow Motion

Chapter Eight: Slow Motion

John Buchanan had been my family's lawyer for as long as I could remember; after he passed away, his son, Robert Buchanan, took over for his father. As tyrannical as his old man, he was deceptive and shifty, yet he was better at getting deals than a mafia boss. I hired Robert right away to represent me; I'd grown up with Robert, and although we'd attended different high schools, we traveled in similar social circles and had attended similar functions as young adults. While he had harbored a crush on me for many years, he'd met his wife, Cordelia, a young heiress, during law school, and they'd become the proud parents of three sons.

"Robbie," I said, allowing him to embrace me when we met at a coffee shop just a few days after my release from the hospital. "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine," he replies.

"Boys well?" I ask. "How old are they? What are they into?"

"Jason is seventeen and he's into astronomy—quite a whiz-kid," Robbie replies with a chuckle. "Then there's fifteen-year-old Harry, and he's so into the law that I swear it's genetic. And then there's Fred, he's twelve now, and he can speak any language you put in front of him, and he's got a fondness for Russian literature of all things. He so enjoys breaking up the plots and such..."

"That's fascinating," I reply, running my finger along the large rim of my mug of hot chocolate in front of me.

"And your children?" Robbie asks, sipping his coffee. "How are they all doing? I mean, Alexandrine must be..."

I quickly stir my whipped cream into the hot drink. "She will be eleven in June," I reply, "and the twins will be one in May."

Robbie gives me a smile as plumes of steam waft upwards from his coffee. "Come on, kid—I've known you since we were kids. Be honest—do you intend to make small talk with me all day, or do you need legal advice?"

I choke slightly as the hot drink goes down my throat. "The second one," I admit rather sheepishly, returning my mug to its saucer.

"All right," Robbie replies. "What's going on?"

"I want a divorce," I reply.

Robbie raises his eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Owen is having an affair with the new nurse in his section of the hospital," I reply in a voice full of contempt. "She joined the hospital last spring, just before the twins were born. Her name is Jillian Grace Ashwick, and I know full well that she will try to get everything..."

"Hire a P.I.?" Robbie asks.

I nod. "Yes. Got photographic and video evidence."

Robbie nods, mulling it over. "Do you have all of the P.I's documentation in a secure location?" he wants to know.

"In my desk at work," I reply. "Unless I do something too out of the ordinary, I know that nobody will go through the drawer."

"And why is that?" Robbie says, chuckling. "Maybe someone is looking for a legal pad or a pen or something—or some of those Jelly Beans you always carry around," he says softly. "How do you know that they won't look in the drawer, see all your P.I.'s work, and rat you out?"

I give him a tight smile as I raise my cocoa to my lips once again. "Because, my friend, the drawer I put it all in has a hidden bottom," I reply.

I go in to see my mother as soon as scheduling permits and she commends me on my job well done in getting Christina Harper out of less than good situation with Ryder Knox. I smile and thank her, listening to trivial things around the office and how the family is doing, when I know that I have to tell her. I mean, I do, don't I? I wanted to get away from Owen as soon as possible, and there had to be a quick way to do so without hurting the kids...

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I have to talk to you about something _personal_ ," I say swiftly to her, putting just the right amount of emphasis on the word. "Can we get personal for a moment, please?"

Immediately, my mother goes ridged, looking concerned. "What's going on, sweetheart?" she asks.

I sigh. "Owen is cheating on me," I say before I can hold back any longer, and her eyes flare in a sudden moment of anger. "I know, I know, I should've said something before now."

My mother sighs. "I hate it when parental units are right about things like this," she says, shaking her head.

I lean forward, rubbing my temples. "No shit," I reply. "I became entirely too dependent on Owen. I mean, I jumped from being with Ulysses to being with Owen, all on the same night. I mean, maybe he's got a sex addiction or something —I don't know, and I really don't care. All I do know is that it's over. I've started divorce proceedings already, and I'm expecting full custody..."

"And the penthouse?" my mother askes. "Do you want to live there?"

I shake my head. "No—too many memories. I actually put a down payment on a house in Westchester County with the million dollars that Chelsea gave me." I chuckle for a minute, shaking my head. "I was actually going to surprise Owen with it, if the P.I. didn't find any suspicious activity. Owen and I have been talking about moving into a house for quite a while, but now I'm going to live there with the kids, and without him..."

My mother reaches across her desk, taking her hands in mine. "Well, you and the kids are more than welcome to stay with me and your father," she tells me. "I suspect that you want to get the hell outta dodge as soon as possible... Doesn't Owen have that medical conference in Miami this week?"

I nod. "Yes, he does. As a matter of fact, I saw him off to the airport this morning, just managing not to throw up as he went off to the security line with Nurse Minnie," I say, making my voice shrill as I said the voice of the woman who had halfway broken up my family.

"I take it she's the woman who...?"

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth.

"Noted," my mother replies. "Well, it's Friday now. Why don't you collect the kids and anything you might want or need from the penthouse and come straight to the house before dinner?"

"Hunter won't mind that we're crashing with you until the offer goes through on the house?" I ask, my eighteen-year-old brother entering my mind's eye.

"The kid graduates in three months, and his attending Yale depends on his good behavior," my mother says, laughing.

I pick up one of my mother's pens, pressing the button over and over again, the silver head—covered ever so slightly with ink—rising and falling with each amount of pressure. "So, Dad's looking forward to having another lawyer in the family?" I ask her casually with a smile.

"We're betting on it," my mother admits to me then. "Your father is convinced that Hunter will do the few years of law school and then join him. But I'm completely convinced that he is going to get the law degree and then go to police academy. I suppose we'll just have to see."

I nod. "We are indeed," I reply.

I was able to explain to Alexandrine in so many words what was happening that night, and my intelligent daughter immediately understood what was happening. It didn't take as long as I anticipated to pack up the penthouse with our necessities and then some, and soon my car was loaded with my things, my children's things, and anything and everything I believed I was entitled to. We drove across town and soon left Manhattan and made our way to Long Island. The twins had fallen asleep in the backseat, but Alexandrine was riding up front next to me.

"You understand, don't you, sweetheart?" I ask her as we drive through the falling night on the highway. "I mean, you get it?"

Alexandrine sighs, nodding. "Yeah, I get it. I mean, Daddy _lied_ ," she said, putting emphasis on the word. "He did a bad thing. He was...unfaithful, right? That's the word for it?"

I nodded. "Yes. I hired a special private investigator to spy on Daddy, and that's how I found out."

"Why did you want to spy on Daddy?" Alexandrine asks. "Isn't that not a nice thing to do either?"

I forced myself not to laugh at the innocence of this statement. "Well, no, honey, it's not a very nice thing to do, no. But when you get older, sometimes you think you're entitled to do certain things, and sometimes you are, and sometimes you're really not."

"What's entitled mean?" Alexandrine asks, confused.

"It means that some people think they're allowed to do whatever they want," I reply as we continue driving. "Like the bad guys in your movies."

Alexandrine bites her lip. "Is Daddy a bad guy?"

 _Shit_ , I think to myself. "No, of course not, sweetheart," I reply as we begin to near the Westchester County exit. "Your daddy just did a bad thing. Listen, sometimes adults who are married get lazy in that they don't tell their husband or wife every little thing that's going on in their head. They think they're justified in not telling the other person something, and sometimes that one thing turns into two things, and then three things, and then, sometimes, you don't want to tell the other person anything, to the point where there are just so many secrets that maybe the whole marriage is just built up of lies..."

"Justified?" Alexandrine wants to know.

"The person thinks they're doing the right thing by not telling the other person what they're doing," I reply. "Maybe they're afraid of what the other person will do, or maybe they know they're doing something wrong and they just feel too guilty to say anything."

"And what did Daddy do?" she asks. "What was the bad thing?"

I sigh. "Honey, you remember the discussion we had about how mommies and daddies have babies?" I ask her.

She nods. "Yes."

"Well, that thing... It's not just for making babies," I reply. "Men and women, and men and men, and women and women... Sometimes, people just do it because it feels nice."

"But men and men and women and women... They can't make babies when they do it, can they?"

I shake my head. "No, no they cannot. But there's nothing wrong with the men and women that decide to do it with the same gender—it's different, but it's not a bad thing."

"So Daddy did what he's supposed to only do with you...with another lady?" my daughter asks.

I nod. "Yes, sweetheart. He did."

Alexandrine shakes her head, looking disgusted. "Eva Solano's parents got a divorce last year for that," she tells me quietly.

I nod. "I remember hearing about that."

"Well, they had something called a custody battle, and then she only lived with her mom after that... Is it like a real battle? Like a war?"

I smile a little at that, pulling into my parent's neighborhood. "Well, it's like a war in that sometimes people can say or do something not very nice. But there aren't weapons—hopefully—other than mean things to say."

She sighs a little. "Could I... Can I stay with you, Mama?" she asks me then. "I want to live with you."

I smile at that, quickly dashing the tears from my eyes before she can spot them. "I had a meeting with my old friend Robbie about that—you remember Robbie? He comes to all our Christmas parties. You know his son Fred—he's about a year older than you."

Alexandrine nods. "I remember Fred."

"Well, Robbie and I talked about me getting full custody of you and the twins, it means that you would live with me and you would probably only have to see your father during weekends..."

"No!" Alexandrine shouts. "Please! I don't wanna see Daddy! Don't make me, please Mommy! Please!"

I swerve slightly on the road, pulling off on the street before the final turnoff for my parents' property. I park on the street, peering in the rearview mirror to make sure the twins haven't woken up, and then to make sure the cops aren't following us for my brief faux pas on the road back there. I bite my lip, wanting to approach the subject delicately, despite the acute anger threatening to bubble beneath the surface. "Sweetheart," I say quietly, turning to my daughter then, "do you remember what Mommy does for a living?"

She nods. "Yes. You help people in danger—special victims."

I smile at her, nodding. "That's right, sweetie. And do you remember what makes a victim special?"

"If they're a kid...or if they got hurt somehow...down there," she says, not looking at me, and immediately, I grow angry.

 _What the hell did you do to my daughter, Owen_?! I think to myself, but force my temper to remain dormant. "Honey... You remember what Mommy told you, don't you? If someone hurt you, especially down there, that you have to tell me about it, right?"

Alexandrine sighs. "Yes."

I reach out and take her hand, and she grips mine. "Honey, did somebody touch you down there? Or make you do things you didn't want to do?"

She looks away, her eyes filling with tears. "Yes," she managed to get out.

I nod at her. "Okay. Can you tell me who did?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Okay. Can you tell me when it happened?"

"Whenever you have to do double shifts at work..."

 _Son of a bitch_ , I think to myself. _What the hell have you done_?! "Okay, honey. Can you tell me where it happened?"

"In your bedroom at the penthouse," she replies.

 _Dammit_ , I think. "Honey, I can only stop the person who hurt you if you tell me who did it," I tell her.

She bites her lip. "I can't..."

"Did they tell you to keep it a secret?" I ask her. "Did they say bad things were going to happen if you told?"

She nods again. "Yes."

"Well, what did they do?"

"I can't tell you..."

"Honey, yes you can," I reply. "Did the person say that I would be mad at you if you told me? Because that's not true."

"It's not?"

I shake my head. "Of course not. If they hurt you, it's their fault, not yours. Never yours, honey. I promise."

"Daddy did it," she replies. "Daddy touched me down there..." She breaks down completely then, sobbing. "He told me not to tell you..."

Immediately, I wrap my arms around her. "This is not your fault," I assure her as she throws her arms around me. "I promise you, this is not your fault. Come on, we have to get the twins dropped off, and then we're going someplace safe. And then he'll never hurt you again..."

Even though my mother advised me against it, she insisted that I bring Sonny as backup to pick up Owen from the airport. The cover story to everyone, including Sonny, was that Alexandrine had been diagnoses with anemia and that she needed Owen's blood type for an immediate transfusion. Despite the fact that her AB-positive blood could be found virtually anywhere, as a medical professional, it was widely known even to Owen that familial matches are usually best. With the twins safe at the Long Island house under Hunter's care, Sonny and I arrived at the airport a few minutes before Owen's flight was due to land.

"You going to tell me what's going on or not?" Sonny asks me as we await Owen's flight in the staff zone.

"The last time we had a conversation like this, things were said that we later regretted," I reply.

"Promise—best behavior," he assures me.

"We're not here to pick up Owen," I reply, "we're here to _pick up_ Owen... As in, we're going to arrest him."

"On what charge?!" Sonny demands.

"Rape of a minor," I reply.

"Nurse Minnie is hardly a minor..."

My eyes lock onto his. "My mother told you?!"

He sighs. "Yes. We're partners, Leia, come on. Besides, it's not like I've got anyone to tell..."

"Not Nurse Minnie," I reply. "He raped... Sonny, Owen raped Alexandrine," I say quietly, not wanting to draw attention.

"Son of a bitch," Sonny says.

"We're waiting on the DNA," I reply, "but Alexandrine was checked out in the hospital and evidence points that she was...sodomized," I say, feeling sick to my stomach.

"That son of a bitch," Sonny whispers. "Can I beat the living crap out of him, please, Leia? Because I'd really like to..."

"Very funny," I say, shaking my head at him. "No. My collar. I'm going to beat the living crap out of him, psychologically, at least."

The arrivals' board dings then, and Sonny and I are made aware that Owen's flight has arrived. We look at our handlers, who nod at us to go to the gate; we've got our badges, the consent forms, and the visitor's passes to get by the gate. We will have Owen cornered, and he won't be able to get away. We walk through the airport and soon find the proper flight gate, and we stand back and wait for Owen to get off the plane with Nurse Minnie.

"Leia, thank god!" Owen cried, still the doting husband in public as he rushed forward, throwing his arms around me.

"Get off me, you sick son of a bitch!" I say through my teeth, pulling back. My husband has the nerve to look shocked as I take out my pair of handcuffs. "Turn around," I say.

"Listen to her!" Sonny says, forcibly turning Owen around.

I unhook the cuffs; the clicking sounds resembling thunder in my ears. "Owen Torrance, you're under arrest for the rape and sodomy of a minor, sexual abuse, and incest," I say, clicking the cuffs around his wrists so quickly and so tightly that he grunts in momentary pain. I place a rough hand on his shoulder then, moving him forward and through LaGuardia Airport. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford that right, one will be appointed to you—"

"Why are you doing this?!" Owen demands as Sonny courteously shoves him forward through the terminal for me.

"Because I'm a police officer, you psycho," I mutter.

"Our daughter is lying in the hospital as we speak with anemia," Owen tells me persuasively, almost as if I was a stranger. "She needs an immediate blood transfusion—you said on the phone—"

"She lied, genius!" Sonny says, and takes hold of Owen from me at my nod. "I'm sure, as the husband of a cop, you know that cops will frequently lie in order to get their suspect right where they want them, physically or verbally."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Owen says firmly as we manage to get him out into the parking lot.

"Shut up, you dirtbag!" Sonny shouts, putting him into the back of the car and slamming the door. "Good thing we didn't carpool..."

"Mind running him down for me?" I ask him.

Sonny shakes his head. "Not at all. I can yell at him some more."

I peek over my shoulder then, and see that Nurse Minnie has fled. "Must've run off to find an attorney," I mutter to myself.

Sonny laughs. "Good luck finding one," he says sarcastically, circling his car to the driver's side. "You gonna be okay?"

I nod at him. "Fine," I reply. "Just going to go off for a while. I need to, I don't know, process all this."

Sonny nods. "Understood. Call if you need anything."

I smile at him. "Thanks," I reply. I turn and watch Sonny drive off with my soon-to-be-ex-husband in his car, and know then that things would change.

"Sorry about just barging in on you like this..."

"Hey, no problem," Olivia replies with a smile. "It's nice to catch up. Is everything going okay? I heard about the divorce. I'm really sorry."

I shake my head. "You know when you think you know a guy, and apparently my soon-to-be-ex liked them...younger."

"I heard about Nurse Minnie," Olivia tells me. "How old is she? Twenty something or is she one of those barely legal candy stripers?"

"Owen isn't just interested in the nurses at his hospital," I say.

"What else is he interested in?"

"Alexandrine," I reply, the vomit threatening to enter my throat again.

Her brown eyes widen. "Alexandrine... As in your daughter Alexandrine? Your ten-year-old daughter Alexandrine?"

I sigh. "Yes. She told me on the night I was explaining my intention to get a divorce that she didn't want to see her father. Then it sort of came spilling out after that..."

"You went to the hospital?"

I nod. "Yes, right after I dropped the twins off at my mother's house. I could hardly keep them in the car all night..."

"Of course not," Olivia replied. "What did the hospital find?"

"Repeated sodomizing," I reply, shuddering.

"Bastard," Olivia replies. "What is the matter with people?"

"No idea," I say.

"Did you arrest him?"

I nod. "Damn right I did."

"What charges did your father permit you to file?"

"Rape and sodomy of a minor, sexual abuse, and incest," I reply.

"Make bail?"

I shake my head. "No. My father was persuasive enough at arraignment to get him remanded without bail. Apparently, sodomy and incest charges stick, being a respected medical professional aside..." There is a knock at Olivia's front door then, and I get to my feet. "I got it, don't worry."

Olivia smiles. "Thanks."

I cross her apartment and peek through the spy hole, but don't recognize the young woman standing there. Opening it, I smile at her. "Yes?"

"Olivia Benson?"

I stand aside and Olivia waves from her chair in the living room. "Right there," I say, pointing.

"She's been served," the woman says, handing over what appears to be a pamphlet from a doctor's office.

"Served? Seriously, Leia, what next?" Olivia says, rolling her eyes.

"Wait—Leia Torrance?" the woman asks.

I nod. "That's me," I reply.

"Great!" she cries, reaching into her messenger bag and pulling out a second pamphlet and handing it over. "Now I don't have to go Downtown. You've been served, too. Have a nice day," she says, turning around and leaving.

I shut the door behind her and open my summons before handing over Olivia's and wonder if Owen wants us to witness— "Oh, my god..."

"What is it, Leia?" Olivia asks.

I raise my eyes to hers. "Owen's had a heart attack," I reply.

I make my way to the prison hospital ward and show my badge at the front gate of the place, whereupon I'm order to surrender my gun, which I do immediately. No reason why these guilty—albeit disturbed—prisoners should have to wind up with bullets in their brains. I make my way down to the recovery area, and find Owen in the sterile environment, swathed entirely in white—almost as if even the hospital ward was promoting his innocence—and lying weakly in a bed. An I.V. was in his arm, and the heart monitor was beating intermittently. I knew that Owen could have easily fooled medical care professionals by faking the symptoms of a heart attack, but they were, after all, professionals.

"Owen." My tone is clipped as I approach the bed, and I sit next to him in the chair without a back, waiting for him to respond.

He opens his eyes, and sighs, tears threatening to fall. "I didn't rape of sodomize Alexandrine, Leia. I swear."

"A guilty or innocent man would say the same thing."

He covers his face with his hands. "I'm guilty of infidelity, Leia, but not this. Not sexual abuse. Not rape. Not incest."

"And the sodomy?"

"Come on, Leia. We were married for a long time," Owen replies, putting his hands down and shaking his head. "You know what I was into."

"Yeah, you just needed a little girl to fulfill your fantasies," I reply bitterly. "Why Alexandrine?" I whisper.

"I didn't do anything to her, Leia!"

I scoff a little, turning to paperwork on the small table beside his bed. "Looking over medical files in your spare time?"

"No." Owen waits for me to turn back to him before he gives me a bitter look in his eyes. "Robbie Buchanan stopped by to see me today."

"Did he?"

"Yes. Served me with divorce papers just after my heart attack."

"I see."

"You want a divorce? Is that why these charges came up?" he demands, shaking his head. "If that's the case, then that's a new low, even for you."

"I would never make up these charges," I reply through my teeth. "Do you think so little of me that I would do something like that?! Sure, I may think you're a lying sack of shit right about now, but I would never wish you ill." I sigh a little, shaking my head. "On second thought, maybe this heart attack was payback."

"Pardon me?" Owen demands.

I sigh. "Look, I spoke with my dad on the way over here, and he's fully prepared to offer you a deal."

"Your dad? Ha!" Owen scoffed. "He always hated me..."

"Probably because he and my mother saw something in you that I didn't see, or want to believe. And that's that you have an affinity for children, Owen." As my husband scoffs and looks away from me, I run my hands though my hair. "Look, I am only here to tell you about the deal, and to make sure you sign the papers, and then I'm out of here."

"Fine. Let's hear this deal that'll lock up an innocent man."

"You're innocent until proven guilty by the courts, but you're guilty in my mind and heart," I reply, sighing. "Okay, here's the deal. Fifteen to twenty for rape of a minor, and Dad'll drop the incest and sexual abuse charge. This'll all go away in that you won't have to face a jury."

"You don't like this deal at all," Owen says.

I nod. "Of course I didn't, that's why there's something else."

"What?"

I feel my hands resembling fists. "Fifteen instead of the twenty on the condition that your parental rights of Alexandrine and the twins. You wouldn't be allowed anywhere near them until they're eighteen; of course, they'd all surpass that age by the time you're released."

"And if I refuse this deal?" Owen asks.

"Then you get life, plus twenty-five years. No parole. No light. No anything. You will die in prison."

"How long do I get to consider?"

"Seventy-two hours," I reply.

"Fine."

I reach into my purse and jab a pen at him. "Just sign the damn papers, Owen. I want to get out of here."

Owen sits up in bed, taking the pen without protest and signing his name in all the necessary places on the paper. "There."

"Good," I reply. "I'm taking it to a judge today—owes Dad a favor. Then we'll be all squared away."

"Great," Owen replies, distant.

"Goodbye, Owen," I say.

I get to my feet and walk to the door of the hospital ward and peek at him. My soon-to-be-ex-husband is staring at the eggshell-white color of the hospital wall, looking at everything and seeing nothing. I turn around fully then and make my way out of the door. I flash my badge at the door and get my gun back, making my way to the front door and outside. I get into my car and set the papers in the seat next to me, shaking my head.

I drive Downtown, just half an hour before everyone is gone for the night. I meet with Robbie and my father and we soon find Judge Donner. He understands that Owen will not be there, but authorizes Robbie as my lawyer and my father as the witness of him signing, authorizing, and filing the papers. I shake his hand at the end of it all, and he nods to himself.

"Well, everything's in order now, Ms. Beckett," he says. "As stated in the agreement that your husband signed, he's relinquished his parental rights and you now have full custody of the minor children Alexandrine, Rebecca and Henry. It also says here that you wish the children to take on your surname..."

"Yes, Judge Donner," I reply.

"So ordered," the judge replies. He reaches into his desk and takes out blank birth certificates. "You have the originals, I take it?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I say, swiftly taking them out of my folder and handing them over to him.

"All right... Alexandrine Victoria Torrance is now known as Alexandrine Victoria Beckett... Rebecca Opal Torrance is Rebecca Opal Beckett. And Henry Owen Torrance is now known as..."

"Henry Lincoln Beckett," I say before I can stop myself. "You can legally change his middle name, too, can't you?"

The judge nods. "Of course, Ms. Beckett," he replies. "All right. I'll just file these and then you'll receive them in the mail to the address listed here in Westchester County."

"Thank you, Judge Donner," I reply. I walk out of there with Robbie and my father immediately thereafter, mulling over the notion that I was no longer Leia Gabrielle Torrance, but now back to Leia Gabrielle Beckett. I watch as Robbie and my father shake each other's hands and I methodically do the same, when my phone ringing takes me away from them. "Detective Beckett," I say.

"Leia Torrance?" asks the voice.

"Leia Beckett now, but yes," I reply.

"My apologies," says the woman on the other end. "This is the medical examiner, Natasha Warner."

"Oh, Natasha, hi," I say, recalling how her mother, Melinda, had frequently helped SVU on their various cases over the years. "Calling about my DNA?"

"I am indeed," she replies. "Or lack thereof, really."

I blink. "No DNA? He used a condom, then?"

"No condom lubricant found," Natasha replies. "Judging by my findings, it looks like there was a popular lubricant found..."

"So he used lubricant," I say.

"You don't understand," says a voice from behind me.

I turn around then. "Natasha," I say, turning off my phone.

She smiles. "Thought I'd better give you the news in person—your mother said you were here, so here I am."

"What news?" I asked. "What's going on?"

She sighs. "Your daughter was definitely abused, Leia, but not in the way you might think."

"Explain it to me, then. Please."

Natasha sighs. "The lubricant is popular with lesbians," she replies. "I don't mean to sound disparaging, that's just the case."

"Keep talking," I reply.

"Judging by the shape of the doctor's findings of your daughter's rectum where she was sodomized, it looks like she was sodomized with a foreign object and not any kind of body part."

"Foreign...? Are you saying that my husband...?"

Natasha sighs. "I don't think so. I think a woman abused your daughter."

"Basing it on the lubricant and the way her rectum looked?"

She shakes her head. "Not altogether, no. Also based on the fingerprints found when I was given permission to examine your daughter. We got a hit in the system on one pair found."

"The doctors or nurses?" I ask.

"No, thankfully," Natasha replies. "Do you know anyone by the name of Chelsea D'Arcy?" she asks.

At once, my blood runs cold. "Yes. She's my sister."

Natasha sighs. "Well, it looks like your sister is the one who did whatever happened to your daughter," she replies.

At once, my mind clicked—that was why Chelsea had given me the clothes, the handbags, and the million dollars. It was blood money, all of it. She didn't want to absolve herself of the guilt done to me over the years. She wanted to absolve herself of the guilt of her attraction of prepubescent girls. Immediately, I turned around and was sick on the fine marble flooring at my feet. Shaking, I shook my head—Owen had been innocent the whole time.


	9. Ain't Nothing But a Heartache

Chapter Nine: Ain't Nothing But a Heartache

The sound of the prison hospital wing door opens and I find myself hesitating in the doorway, bewildered at what could potentially lie before me. Putting the toe of my boot inside, I finally managed to get over the fear and crossed the white tiled floor of the place. Making my way deeper inside the underbelly of society, I found I was relieved when I spotted Owen, still lying in his hospital bed, this time staring up at the bone-colored ceiling.

"Owen?" I asked, forcing my voice not to break as I stepped forward. "Owen? It's me, it's Leia."

He sighs; a full-bodied movement, almost as if he's angered by my presence here, which would be warranted in this situation. "And how may I help you today? I'm surprised they let you in. As my ex-wife, you're not going to be very high on the familial lists."

"Did they give you the news?" I ask him. "They're going to be moving you to Mercy General Hospital later this afternoon."

He sighs. "Has my condition worsened? I figure, as a police officer, you'd be allowed to ask that sort of question... I mean, has your father subpoenaed my medical records already?"

"Owen, please don't be ridiculous, not now," I say, shaking my head as I move to sit next to him. "Listen, I met with the medical examiner, Natasha Warner, last night, and you've been cleared."

Owen immediately turns to look at me. "It's over?"

"Well, not entirely, no," I reply. "My father has some friends in high places and is going on your behalf to your place of work, and is demanding your job back. And, since none of this ever happened, I'm amending the custody agreement per our children's wishes."

"Rebecca and Henry get a vote?"

I laugh. "Well, I'm not sure. All I do know is that Alexandrine...well, it's going to take some time. Since she claimed you were the one behind the assaults, I think she should enter therapy effective immediately."

Owen nods. "Of course. If she claimed it was all me, then I think it's best if I give her some space."

I find myself smiling at him. "Thank you." I lean back ever so slightly in the chair provided, and sighed, not wishing to hurt him further, but wanting to be honest with him all the same, knowing that this could make or break everything. "I'm not going to rethink the divorce, though, Owen."

Owen sits up a bit in the bed. "No, I don't think you should either. But there's one thing you still don't know about, Leia."

"Please, at this point, virtually nothing could surprise me."

He sighs. "Well, first off... Who did Alexandrine say hurt her?"

"Well, you," I reply. "But after the DNA results came back..." I sigh, not wanting to be the one to tell him this, but knowing that it had to be said. "The DNA tests showed that Chelsea has been abusing Alexandrine."

Owen became incensed with anger. "This is a new low, even for you Leia," he thunders. "How could you tell me that my twin sister...?!"

I reach into my briefcase and throw a copy of the DNA results on his bed. "There is all the proof you could ever want," I say to him. "None of it has been altered. I know for a fact that it was Chelsea."

Owen immediately tears through the paperwork and looks it over, scrutinizing every detail until his eyes are even more red-rimmed than before. "So the check for a million dollars...?"

"Blood money," I reply. "She felt guilty because of her abuse towards Alexandrine and she felt it made us even somehow."

"Where is she now?"

"Asked her out for lunch today at this new bistro in Midtown," I reply. "Mom is sending in Sonny to pick her up now." I lean closer. "Listen, Sonny's really sorry for his part of it the other day. The arrest at the airport, all that... He—"

Owen holds up his hand, his eyes twinkling through his sad smile. "Sonny was just doing his job. All is forgiven."

"And me?" I ask him. "Am I forgiven?"

He sighs. "You jumped on the bandwagon pretty quickly," he said, lying up against his pillows. "Sure you didn't believe it? Just a little? Despite my assurances that it never happened?"

I sighed. "I guess with all the secrets and lies and lack of other communications on both ends, I thought it was easy to believe it. Besides, Alexandrine doesn't lie. You know that."

Owen nods. "That's true." He picks at the edge of his bed linen; I wonder then how many prisoners could have died in this bed. "You're right—about all the secrets and the lying. But it's not what you think—me and Nurse Minnie. I swear. I'll tell you everything."

"Okay," I reply. "Tell me everything."

He looks up at me and smiles ever so slightly. "You know I love you, Leia. Always have, always will... Just not in the way you love me."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?" I ask him. "That's why you had an affair with Nurse Minnie."

Owen shakes his head. "Nurse Minnie isn't who you think."

I purse my lips, considering that. "Try me, then."

"I got you the Grande unicorn Frappuccino," says a voice from behind me.

"I thought those were discontinued over thirty years ago," I say, turning around and feeling my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. "Minnie?"

"You would think so," says the man with a smile. He seriously looks like he belongs on the cover of _GQ Magazine_ , and looked like he could easily be Cosmo's cousin, the way he looked. "Hi," he says, putting out his finely manicured hand with a thousand-watt smile. "Marcus Fairbanks. Nice to meet you."

"Officially?" I say, looking from one of them to the other, as Marcus crosses to the other side of the bed and hands over Owen's Frappuccino. "Looks like you got your outside world drink privileges back..."

"Judging from her understandably standoffish tone, I take it you haven't conveyed the promised information to her," Marcus said quietly.

"You're together," I say.

Marcus turns fifty shades of pink and proceeds sipping his salted caramel latte and looks away.

"Yes," Owen replies. "Marcus is a male nurse. He just dressed up as a female nurse during the Halloween party. Did you happen to notice the time stamp of the photo your P.I. took?" he asks. "It was time-stamped—or should have been—during Halloween. We took a break and when things got hot and heavy, we went to an abandoned supply closet off the east wing."

"Not very romantic, I know, but given the circumstances, we had to be discreet about the whole thing," Marcus puts in.

"Oh, my god," I say, shaking my head.

"I realize that there's never a good time to say this," Owen says, reaching out and taking ahold of my wrist gently. "But, I'm gay. I'm gay, Leia, and I'm so sorry you had to find out like this. I'm tired of hiding it. I'm in love with Marcus and since we're divorcing anyway..."

I maneuver my hand so as it clasps Owen's. "You have nothing to apologize for," I tell him with a smile. I look up at Marcus and reach out to him, taking ahold of his other hand in mine. "I hate to sound petty, but now I feel less to blame for this whole thing," I say.

Marcus laughs immediately. "No, of course you're not to blame," he assures me with a smile. "It took us months before we reached this impasse—a point of no return, if you will. All Owen could say was that he couldn't bear to hurt you and that he didn't want to break up the family. He said how much he loved you and that he didn't want to hurt the kids..."

"But I couldn't stand it anymore—not being myself," Owen says softly. "I know that it's a shock, but..."

I shake my head. "Actually, it's not really a shock."

Marcus looks from me to Owen in confusion. "I thought you told me that she didn't know," he says quietly, not accusatory."

"I didn't tell her," Owen assures Marcus before turning back to me. "What do you mean, Leia? What are you talking about?"

"I suppose I should've been tipped off initially when you insisted that we get married on Martha's Vineyard, and when you designed the ring yourself," I say with a smirk. "I guess I just thought, at the time, that Alexandrine needed a father or maybe you were metrosexual or something..."

Marcus snorts. "Yeah, that was my first impression, too."

"But you've got nothing to apologize for," I reply, looking from him to Marcus and back again. "Marcus... Have you met my children?"

"Yes, many times," he replies. "Of course, I was only called 'Daddy's friend' at the time. Of course, that'll be an interesting conversation..."

"You seem to like them," I say quietly.

Marcus smiles. "I adore those kids, really," he replies. "They're wonderful. I love Alexandrine's impressions of modern society. She's a little live wire, that one. I absolutely adore her."

I nod then, considering. "Well, I'll amend the custody agreement then," I say with a smile. "Listen, I put a down payment on a house in Westchester County. The sale went through this morning, so it's mine. I'm going to relinquish my rights to the penthouse, because you always seemed to love it," I say to Owen. "How would you and Marcus like to call the penthouse home?"

"We couldn't," Owen says.

I smile. "Actually, you can. Mom and Dad gave me the penthouse legally after Alexandrine was born—it's in my name. I added your name to it after we got married, and so if I take my name off it, it's yours."

"What about the kids?" Marcus asks.

"Well, I was thinking I'd hire some part-time help while I'm at work," I reply. "I know that schools are of a higher caliber in Westchester County, so I think it would be best if they attended school there."

"She's right," Marcus tells Owen. "You know I went through my schooling there, and all their learning institutions are incredible."

"What are you proposing?" Owen asks.

"You and Marcus can pick them up on Friday after school, and then they can come back to me on Monday after school," I reply. "It'll take some getting used-to, but I know that now that they'll have two father figures in their lives, that there isn't anything they can't handle."

"Three eventually," Marcus observes.

I raise an eyebrow. "Is there something else I should be made aware of?" I ask, and manage to dart my gaze quickly from one to the other.

Owen shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"I mean when you find someone else," Marcus replies.

I shake my head. "I think I'm just going to focus on the kids and my career for the moment," I say with a smile. "I'm not really in the mood to jump into anything just yet, and that's okay. All I want is to ensure that the kids are safe, and that I keep the creeps off the streets who pose a threat to them."

"I really like her," Marcus stage-whispers to Owen.

Owen laughs then. "Well, I think you both can tell that I have a type," he replies, shaking his head as he falls back against the pillows.

I returned to my parent's house where my children still were and found Hunter looking after them. He'd finished with school for the week and was enjoying his bonding time with his two nieces and nephew, who had bonded to him quite quickly, thankfully. I soon discovered that Hunter had fed the twins and put them down for an afternoon nap before helping Alexandrine with her homework, and I was shocked at this turn of events.

"Thompson has dinner ready," Hunter explained from the breakfast nook of the kitchen, where he was sitting with Alexandrine. "Mom and Dad said they'd be home by six."

I blink, surprised that he had such a grasp of their schedules. "And you don't have homework?" I ask, taking one of Thompson's freshly baked cookies from a plate on the kitchen island.

"Leia, I'm a senior, and it's closing in on the end of the year," he replied with a quick smile.

"It's March," I reply, chewing my cookie. "The snow is melting. Don't you have midterms or something due?"

"In a couple of weeks, and they're all in-class," Hunter says, slightly exasperated that his older sister is telling him how to live his life.

"And do you still study for these things, or is that out the window, too?" I ask him, leaning up against the kitchen island and chewing on a second cookie. "I mean, I don't know. It's been a while since I graduated high school..."

"Exactly," Hunter replied. "Come on, Leia—I've got it under control."

I approach the table, leaning down and kissing Alexandrine on the forehead before ruffling Hunter's hair. "I know you do," I tell him. Turning around to head upstairs to check on the twins, I spot a rather large legal envelope just to the right of the platter of cookies. Immediately assuming that it is for me, I rip it open like there's no tomorrow and peek at it. "Damn, this isn't for me," I say, shaking my head and causing Hunter to turn around.

"That's mine!" Hunter shouts, getting to his feet.

"Wait a minute—now I'm curious!" I say, evading his grasp and reading the heading of the document. "Oooh, the admissions department of Yale!"

"Yeah, I got deferred at Christmas," Hunter says, crossing his arms in a petulant manner. "Don't rub it in."

"Wait a minute here," I say, reading the fine print. "Dear Mr. Beckett, we've successfully reviewed your application and, at this time, we would like to formally accept you into Yale Law School. Congratulations, blah, blah, blah," I say, looking up at Hunter.

"Wait, it doesn't say that!" Hunter cried out, moving to swipe the paperwork away from me and I let him. "Wait... I got in?!"

"Looks that way," I replied, crossing back over to Alexandrine and peering over her shoulder at her homework assignment. "What are you working on tonight, now, sweetheart?"

"An essay about what we think middle school will be like," she replies. "Mama, Grandma says that I can have a garden tea party for my birthday..."

I smiled; Alexandrine had always been especially fond of her birthday parties, and every year, one had a different theme. Now that her eleventh birthday was a mere three months away, planning would have to occur eventually. We'd never had one at her grandparents' house, however, and, pending my parents' approval, and I soon wondered if such a thing would even be an option. "You do realize, darling, that after we move, and starting in September, you'll be going to a different school, one in Westchester County?"

"What's the school called again?" she asked.

"The Hackley School," Hunter replies, taking the paperwork and making his way back to the nook, pulling himself into it across from her. "It's kindergarten through twelfth grade—that means you don't have to switch schools."

"Unless you want to," I cut in, not wanting Hunter to give Alexandrine any kind of misinformation on the subject. "I went to an art's school for high school—it was a long and grueling audition process, and you don't necessarily have to go through that, sweetheart. There are also schools that focus more on science and technology, so there are plenty to choose from."

"What did you do at art's school, Mama?" Alexandrine wants to know.

"Well, you had several majors to choose from," I reply. "Acting, filmmaking, dancing, music... Anything you want, really. You're very good at your ballet, so maybe that's something to think about."

"Both your mom and dad went there," Hunter tells Alexandrine, which is more than a little insensitive of him.

"Hunter, may I speak with you in the other room, please?" I say and, without waiting for an answer, turn around and leave the room. I am pleased when I hear the telltale noise of his Converse upon the wood floor and turn to face him; he had inherited Dad's height, so I had to crane my neck quite a bit to really get a good look at him. "Look, I know Dad must've told you about Owen's innocence, but he's still guilty of one thing," I say, shaking my head. "Alexandrine is still very fragile on the subject, so please, be gentle with it."

"You mean, he's guilty of cheating on you?"

I nod. "Exactly."

Hunter rolls his shoulders. "But you're not as mad about it, are you? I mean, now that he's out and everything..."

"I don't blame him—not at all. I blame myself for not recognizing the signs," I reply, shaking my head. "Maybe if I'd seen his intensity with the relationship, I could've figured out just how much denial he was in..."

Hunter sighs, pulling me into his arms. "You can't blame yourself," he tells me. "I mean, Jeannie and I have been together two years already, and I know I want to be with her forever. But there are no guarantees, Leia, and we always have to be prepared for all that."

I smiled, remembering me comforting him whenever he had a crisis situation, but Mom and Dad had been working. "Well, all I know is, if it ever happens, you'll make a hell of a dad."

Hunter chuckles, pulling back. "Well, I know Jeannie wants kids, so that certainly is useful information to know."

"So, what is it she's going to college for again?"

"She's going to the Columbia University School of Journalism," he replies, and I see his happiness for Jeannie in his eyes. "She wants to be one of those top-ranking reporters you always see on T.V."

I smile. "Well, with her grades, Columbia's lucky to have her," I reply. I check my watch then, shaking my head. "And now it's time to get the twins up from their nap," I say, making my way over to the stairs.

"Hey, Leia?"

I turn around to face him again. "Yeah?"

"You think you'll ever get involved with someone again?"

I shrug. "At this point, all I can think about is the kids, my job, and moving us and everything else to our new house. Anything else?" I shrug. "Anything else will take a bit more time."

"What's the matter with you?"

I lift my head, staring across from me at Lavinia, who is giving me a concerned look. "Oh, it's nothing," I reply. "Just that the homeowners have decided not to move out for another few weeks. Now my husband and his boyfriend get Alexandrine on weekdays because she has to finish out the school year..." I sigh a little then. "It's a living, I guess..."

Lavinia sighs. "Sorry to hear that."

I smile tightly at her. "Hey, it is what it is."

"At least your mom is cool with you staying at her place for a while."

I nod. "Yeah, she doesn't seem to mind me making sure that Hunter doesn't throw any ragers..."

Lavinia leans forward. "Listen, Paxton and I have set a date," she says, sliding a cream-colored envelope across our desks towards me.

I smile and take ahold of the envelope. "Thanks."

She grins at me. "You're expected at the rehearsal dinner and early on the day of, you know, as befits your station as a bridesmaid."

I salute her, putting the invitation in my bag. "Noted," I reply. I roll my shoulders then, peeking out through the interrogation room door to the window outside, where the sun is just beginning to set. "Long day," I say.

She nods. "Yeah..."

"How's Paxton with all this?"

Lavinia giggles. "Thankfully, he's out at a job site in Syracuse until the end of the week," she replies easily. "We try to make our schedules in sync whenever he does happen to be in town."

"What's the site of?" I ask.

"This new museum on fishing," Lavinia replies.

The office door opens then and my mother enters the squad room, and Sonny, Lavinia, and I—the lieutenant and detectives in the office that night—immediately get to our feet. I can see then in my mother's eyes that something is the matter, but cannot for the life of me figure out what it is. Little did I know that it would hit us both close to home.

"House party gone bad," she says quietly. "The 911 operator couldn't get any kind of positive I.D. from the call, so we really don't know much about it."

"Where at?" Sonny asks.

"Penthouse on the Upper East Side," my mother replies. "We'll need a canvas out there immediately..."

"I could go," Sonny offers.

"Hatfield, Leia, you go check it out, see if can find the complainant," my mother orders, and I can see that Sonny is quickly annoyed by us having the 'more interesting' job. "Carisi, you come with me—the mother and father are vacationing in Bridgehampton tonight at the Topping Rose House—we gotta make sure that they know what's happening on their property."

"You got it, captain," Lavinia says, her jacket already half-on.

I troop after her, hopping on the elevator. As I wait for the doors to close, my eyes become glued to the hideous carpet at me feet—we seriously needed to get new carpet workers in there...

"Something on your mind?" Lavinia asks.

"Honestly?" I ask as the elevator doors ding open in the parking garage. "I guess you could say I'm not altogether approving of my mother and Sonny going off to a romantic hotel together..."

"Is that all?" Lavinia wants to know. "Trust me, Leia, your mom and Sonny are ancient history," she says as we get into my car. "You've got nothing to worry about—your parents love each other."

I sigh, sticking my key into the ignition. "Sorry, I guess the whole my husband being gay thing is still with me," I reply.

"Understandable—you were with him since high school," Lavinia replies. "You ever get that feeling of resentment at being lied to?"

I shrug as we pull out of the parking garage. "Fleeting moments of it, maybe," I admit as we drive down the dark street. "I guess I was more discouraged by the notion that Owen didn't feel like he could tell me the truth. To be honest, I think I was more invested in the whole thing than he was."

"How's that?"

"Well, we were living together after I turned eighteen, but that was only after I told him that I was pregnant with Alexandrine," I reply. "After that, he convinced me to move in with him and we got married within months of her birth. He was always so attentive and patient with me—he was strictly traditional, mind you, and after she started school and we started our careers, he immediately asked me why we hadn't yet had another baby..."

"And then the twins were born?"

I nod. "Yeah, pretty much. I found out I was pregnant on the night Owen said he wanted to try again."

Lavinia sighs ever so slightly as we stop at a traffic light. "I don't even know if I want children," she confesses to me then. "Paxton's family is this architecture mogul dynasty, so you know what that means..."

"At least one boy to take it over?" I ask her.

Lavinia nods at that as the light turns green and as we pull carefully into the intersection. "Exactly. I mean, Paxton Sr. and Penelope are nice enough, but part of me wonders if they're going to be the kind of in-laws who insist upon watching the marriage consummation..."

I try and fail not to laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"Wish I was..."

"But you and Paxton live together," I say. "You mean to tell me that you sleep in separate bedrooms?"

Lavinia shakes her head. "No. We share a room."

"And a bed?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Now it is Lavinia's turn to try and fail not to laugh. "We've been together five years and we've lived together for three."

"So, the rest is up to my imagination, then, I take it?"

She nods. "Yeah—the rest is up to you."

We continued to make small talk on the rest of the car ride, until we pulled up to the house to see a few ambulances and a few police vehicles on the pavement just ahead of us. I pulled off to the side of the road and Lavinia and I hastily made an exit from my car and made our way towards the police tape. We immediately took out our badges upon approaching the officer who appeared to be in charge. He was a portly man with a salt and pepper mustache, and I knew him to be Officer Albert Franklin, familiar to both my parents.

"SVU," Lavinia said as we stepped forward.

"I'm Detective Beckett, this is my partner Detective Hatfield," I said as Officer Franklin motioned for us to get under the police tape. "What do we got?" I asked as we stepped closer to the main entrance of the building.

"Party gone awry," Officer Franklin replies easily. "Bunch of high schoolers just drinking and being reckless—more of the usual. The only unusual thing was the reason why SVU was called in the first place..."

"What happened?" Lavinia asked.

"A high school student was raped on the premises," Officer Franklin tells us both in a grave tone.

"Do you know the high school?" I ask him.

"Sappo School of the Arts and Academics," Officer Franklin replies.

Immediately, I grip Lavinia's hand. "That's Hunter's school!" I whisper before tearing up the stairs and wondering if I knew the perp or the assailant. As I made my way through the foyer, I saw more police tape down the hall and walked towards it. Across the hall from the taped-off room, I saw a pair of officers talking to a young man who seemed to be upset. Stepping closer, my blood ran cold as I recognized the voice. "Hunter?" I asked.

My youngest brother turned around, and my heart dropped. His eyes were swollen and purple, and his knees were covered with black and blue marks. His head appeared to be bashed in somehow, and I assumed the rest of his body housed even more bruises. He was thankfully wrapped in a blanket, and his voice caught as he tried to speak to me.

"It's okay, it's okay," I said, flashing my badge to the officers as I felt Lavinia coming up behind me. "This is my brother," I said, stepping forward and pulling him in my arms.

"Hunter, I just want to impress upon you that you're not protecting anyone by refusing a rape kit," I tell him gently. "Yes, it's an invasive procedure that can be demeaning, but you're only protective your assaulters if you refuse."

Hunter merely sits in his hospital bed, shivering. His eyes are a mixture of red and purple, from crying and pain. "I don't know what to do."

I sigh, perching on the side of his bed. "It's a conflict of interest, but I could take your statement, if you're comfortable. Otherwise, it has to be Lavinia, or Sonny, and I know you don't want Mom to know the details first-hand..."

My brother shivers. "And Felicity and Fin? They're not coming?"

I shake my head. "No. Felicity's on her honeymoon in the Caribbean and Fin is in Chicago helping Uncle Mason with his latest art gallery," I explain patiently. "As for the excuses? Wrong time and work commitments," I tell Hunter patiently. "All I can say is, Dad is on his way and you know he's not going to leave you alone until he's sure that the hospital has proper security. So, you either have to give me your statement now, or when he falls asleep..."

He sighs. "What do you want to know?"

"Were you drinking?"

My brother locks eyes with mine. "Would that matter?"

"Yes, and no," I say quietly. "Yes, because it's illegal for anyone under the age of twenty-one in the United States to drink. No, because it doesn't matter if you were drunk or sober at the time of the attack—it was still—"

" _Don't_ say that word, please," Hunter says, his voice cracking. "I mean, a few hours ago, I didn't even know a guy could be raped, and now..."

I nod. "Okay. We'll call it 'the situation' or 'the incident'. Okay?"

Hunter nods back. "Fine."

"Okay. So, were you drinking tonight, Hunter?"

He sighs. "I had some punch—Hawaiian punch mixed with vodka. I had about two solo cups of it, but that's it."

"Over the course of how long?"

"What?" Hunter asks, confused.

I purse my lips, knowing full well that I had to be gentle when it came to him, especially now. "Let's start off easy. When did you get to the party?"

"Around seven," he replies.

"Okay. And do you know when the incident happened?"

"Maybe around nine-thirty," he replies.

I nod. "Okay—so two drinks—"

"Not really two," he replies. "They were only filled up about halfway. I don't really drink."

I nod. "Okay. So, one drink over two hours? You're about six-four and...?"

"Two hundred and twenty pounds, about," he replies.

I nod. "You can't have had much of a blood-alcohol, if any at all," I reply, positive that a nurse had taken down that information on a preliminary basis. "Okay... Now I know this is difficult, but can you tell me who did this to you?"

Hunter looks away. "I don't know."

I sigh, considering a different angle. "Hunter, what have I always told you about rape victims?" I ask.

"Other than the fact that they always seem to be women?"

"That opinion aside, yes. Come on. What have I always said?"

"You've said that if they don't report their rape by going through the proper channels, that they could be attacked again, or that their rapist could attack someone else," Hunter replies.

I nod at him. "That's right. Now, who did this to you? I don't care who it is—I just need their name to get whoever did this to you off the street. They just forfeited their right to a free life, Hunter."

"Life in prison?" he asks.

I sigh. "No. Whoever did this gets twenty-five years, assuming that it's found to be rape in the first-degree, meaning that it was planned."

Hunter bites his lip. "I don't even know if it was rape..."

I raise my eyebrows. "Hunter, you're beaten..." I hesitate then. "Is... Is that something you're into, or...?"

Hunter turns to me, horrified. "No!" he shouts.

I take a step back. "Sorry," I reply. "I had to ask, I'm sorry." I wait for a moment before continuing on. "Hunter, why do you think it isn't rape? Clearly, you didn't want this to happen."

Hunter lowers his eyes, revulsion and shame seemingly emulating through him in that moment. "I... I got...aroused," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper as he divulges the information to me.

I do my best to hold back my tears. "Hunter, that doesn't mean you consented," I tell him gently.

"What the hell does it mean, then?!" he demands, and I find myself getting to my feet as I watch the tears streaming down his face. "Does it mean that I'm gay now?! I don't understand any of this..."

My mind fixated on that one word: _Gay_. "Hunter, are you telling me that a man did this to you?" I ask him.

He nods. "Yes. Yeah. A man—a guy—whatever."

I nod encouragingly. "Okay. Can you tell me his name?"

"There were two," he says. "They were brothers—twins. Exchange students from Russia—Alexander and Vladimir Sokolov."

I sighed, knowing exactly who these brothers were; infamous for their mutual six-feet-seven, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound build, they were the top teenage wrestlers in Russia. Studying their senior year at an American high school, they had no shortage of admirers—including cheerleaders and various college scouts. I'd seen them in action, and it was not hard to believe their need to dominate someone that they felt was weaker—or, in this case, inferior. Despite both of the Sokolov's prowess when it came to wrestling, Hunter was still the team captain, having risen the ranks after marking the varsity team the year before.

"And they raped you?" I ask him, my voice emotionless.

"Yes," Hunter said quietly. "They did it while Jeannie watched."

My eyes widened then. "What?" I whispered.

Hunter nodded, fresh tears escaping from his eyes. "She paid them to do it—it got her off."

"Son of a bitch," I whispered to myself. "Okay... I have to go find these brothers and Jeannie."

"Are you going to arrest them?" Hunter asked.

"You're damn right I am," I reply.

"Leia?"

I turn around and look at him, and suddenly he is a six-year-old boy again, asking me to read him a story. But those days are long gone, and I know that there are dark days ahead. One false move, and those horrible men could be on a plane to Russia, never to be seen again, but I couldn't let myself think about that. Nor could I let on to Hunter that that's what I was thinking in the first place.

"Yeah, Hunter?"

Hunter shivered through his tears. "Tell the nurse that I agree," he whispered. "I'll do the rape kit."

I let go of the door and move back across the room, kissing his forehead in a brief manner. "Good," I reply. "I'm going to go track them all down, and then I'll come back and see you tomorrow. Okay?"

Hunter nods. "After the rape kit, I can sleep?"

I smile and nod back at him. "Yes. Yes, you can sleep."

I leave the room then and quickly find the nurse's station and give them the go-ahead to examine Hunter. I walk through the hospital and out to the parking lot, where Lavinia is standing by my car, wrapping up a phone call to Paxton. When she sees me, she quickly wraps up the call, staring at me.

"You don't look well," she says softly.

I shiver. "I think I need a psych eval," I tell her.

Lavinia blinks. "Why?"

My hand twitches along my gun. "Because I'm in desperate need for my brother's girlfriend and a certain pair of twins to taste lead," I reply.


	10. Ain't Nothing But a Mistake

Chapter Ten: Ain't Nothing But a Mistake

PRESENT DAY — Wednesday, April 3, 2047; 11:19 A.M.

"You know you're allowed a union delegate or an attorney to be present during this interview, don't you, Detective Beckett?"

 _Whoa, formality_ , I think to myself. "I understand, Captain Grayson," I reply, not wanting to give my grandfather the satisfaction. I lean forward then, so as the microphone can pick up everything I'm saying clearly. "I'm here of my own free will and I don't want or need a union delegate or an attorney. I have nothing to hide from IAB."

"Okay, we'll commence with the formal questioning, then," my grandfather says quietly, shuffling the paperwork. "Can you account for your whereabouts Friday evening, the twenty-ninth of March at around twelve-thirty a.m.?"

I nod at him. "Yes. I was at the hospital, taking a statement from a victim and then it had been a long shift. I drove my partner, Lavinia Hatfield, back to the squad room and then went home."

"When did you arrive home?"

"I arrived in Long Island about an hour and fifteen minutes later, a bit after two in the morning," I reply.

"And what did you do when you got home?"

"I made sure my twins were sleeping soundly, called my father to tell him goodnight, and went to bed myself."

"No one besides your children were in the house at the time?"

"Their new nanny was there, Kassandra Stone—she was up late working on a paper for school."

"Did you see her at home?"

I nodded. "I did. She was sitting at the dining room table, on her computer, so she must've known what time it was when I came in."

"Did either of you speak?"

I nod again. "Yes, before I went upstairs to kiss the twin's goodnight. I asked her what she was working on."

"Did you specify what it was?"

I force myself not to sigh at the patronizing tone. "She did. It was her dissertation for her child psychology degree about nature versus nurture and the pros and cons of each method of child rearing."

"And then you went upstairs to see to your twins?"

"Yes. I went into the nursery, kissed them both goodnight, and then I went into my bedroom down the hallway."

"Where you made a phone call to your father?"

I nodded at him. "Yes. I called to make sure Hunter was all right and then I took a shower."

"You do realize that you potentially incriminated yourself."

I blink. "Excuse me?" I demand.

"The very statement—'and then I took a shower'. It leads to reason that you wanted to wash off incriminating evidence."

 _Son of a bitch_ , I think to myself. "That's not what I was doing," I reply. "It had been a long day, and I wanted to take a shower before going to bed."

"Who's Hunter?"

I fight and succeed in not rolling my eyes. "Hunter Beckett. He's my youngest brother and the victim I mentioned earlier."

"Your younger brother was raped at a high school party?"

I nibbled at my inner lips. "Yes," I replied tightly.

"You and Lavinia Hatfield were the responding detectives on the scene of the crime itself?"

"Yes."

"You had him taken to Mercy Hospital?"

"I did."

"Where you forced him to have a rape kit?"

I felt better knowing that my hands were in my lap, as they now twitched, my nails curling back and biting my palms. "I didn't force Hunter," I replied. "I explained to him the benefits of having one and he came to the conclusion that having one was better than not having one. It was his choice."

"After you left Hunter in his hospital room, what happened?"

"I went straight to the nurse's station and told them that Hunter had authorized the rape kit," I replied. "As I left, I saw a nurse heading back to his room to have it taken care of."

"And then what happened?"

I pursed my lips. "I went to the parking garage, where my partner was waiting by my car," I reply.

"What was she doing?"

"She was speaking to her fiancé—I didn't get much of the conversation, she cut the call as I approached."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"She told me that I looked like hell."

"And what happened next?"

I find I am at a loss for words.

"If you wish to continue at a later time, that is all right."

I purse my lips again. "No. No, I'm fine."

"Okay. What was said next?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Detective Beckett, you're allowed to have a union delegate or an attorney present, yet you've refused that right. Do you have something to hide?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Then speak!" my grandfather orders me.

5 DAYS AGO — FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2047; 2:07 A.M.

"Anyone up?" I called as I walked into the foyer of my parent's beautiful mansion on Long Island.

"In here," Kassandra called, an ounce of distraction in her voice.

I took off my scarf from around my shoulders and walked into the dining room where Kassandra seemed to finish typing up a sentence on her Word document before looking up at me with a smile. "Hey, sweetie," I said, flashing her a smile as I took off my jacket. "Everything go okay today?"

She nodded. "Yes. I picked up the kids from the daycare on my way back from class earlier this afternoon," she replied. "They were perfect angels. I gave them some of the chicken and rice soup—very mild—that Thompson had left for them and they absolutely loved it."

"No spit-ups then, I take it?" I asked, giggling as I put my jacket over my shoulder and leaned against a dining room chair.

"None at all," Kassandra assured me. "We had some playtime afterwards and then we watched one of the educational baby videos," she tells me. "After that, I gave them their bath and then read to them for a while. I got them to bed around seven forty-five on the dot. They woke up around midnight and were both wet but have been down ever since."

"You're so good," I reply, pulling her into my arms. "Thank you."

"I got your text a while ago," she says softly to me. "Hunter going to be all right, you think?"

I shrug. "God, I hope so. He really doesn't need a set-back right now, but that's beside the point. What happened to him was just plain wrong. The poor guy actually thought he wanted it..."

"And your parents?" she asks, pulling back and peeking up at me. "They going to the hospital?"

"Dad texted; he was working late in court but got away to go be with Hunter. Mom and Sonny went to Bridgehampton to get the parents of whose party it was on the scene... I don't know. And Felicity and Fin are on their honeymoon and in Chicago and I'm exhausted..."

"Really?" Kassandra asks, cocking her head to one side. "Listen, my paper isn't due for another two weeks..." She reaches up and brings her nimble fingers to my neck, massaging the area between it and my shoulders, and I immediately melt at her touch. "Why don't we go upstairs, take a shower, then I'll give you a massage and then we can go to bed? Deal?"

I smile down at her. "Sounds like heaven," I reply, leaning down and pulling her upwards, brushing her lips with mine.

"When do we get to tell them?" she whispered into my mouth. "I know all this with Hunter is a pressing matter, but come on. When you move into the house in Westchester, we're going to be sharing a bedroom..."

I sigh, shaking my head. "It's difficult," I reply, feeling safe in her five-feet-seven frame and strong yet lean arms. "You know as well as I do that my divorce just became final. Me dropping this on them now? I don't know what Owen would try to pull... I've been a hypocrite."

"Not entirely," Kassandra replies diplomatically. "You're just as homosexual as Owen is, and you know it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I reply. "Don't worry—I know my parents aren't going to care. Just a little longer, please? Besides, we were hiding our feelings for _years_. What's a week or two more?"

Kassandra sighs, but nods. "I understand."

I stand on my toes and kiss her, feeling completely safe. "Don't worry. I'm yours now. Now that my divorce has been finalized, no man is taking me away from you ever again."

Kassandra growls in my ear. "Better not," she replies.

I gently tangle my fingers into her long, silky red hair. "They won't. I'm over Owen and all of it. Promise."

Kassandra smiles down at me, and I see her love me etched in their gorgeous greenness. "I'm glad. It was hell waiting for you, Leia."

"Back at you," I reply. "Why don't you get the bedroom presentable? I promised Dad I'd give him a call when I got back."

"No problem," Kassandra replied. "Want to kiss the kid's goodnight?" she calls over her shoulder as she heads up the stairs.

"You can read me like a book," I say, already dialing my father's number as I made a move to follow her.

3 DAYS AGO — MONDAY, APRIL 1, 2047; 9:33 A.M.

Pranks are destined to be pulled on a day like today, and it was our job as police detectives to keep them at bay. As I entered the squad room that Monday morning, I was pleased that the frequent overcast days had dissipated and that the spring sunshine was finally allowing itself to make its presence known. I went to my desk promptly, smiling tightly at Lavinia, who looked a bit tired after a weekend, but seemingly perturbed to see me in the squad at all.

"Something wrong?" I asked casually, sipping my hot chocolate and peering across the table at her.

She shook her head. "No, it's just..." She leaned forward ever so slightly. "Your mom is taking half a day off... Weren't you allowed...?"

I shake my head at her. "I'd rather be working," I reply as Sonny comes in and looks the squad over. Other than the two of us, there was Matthew Lowenstein, the newest SVU team member. Matthew was now our sergeant, and he'd transferred six months ago from the Bronx Hostage Negotiations.

"Captain's out until after lunch," Sonny said to the three of us. "I'll be in her office if any of you need anything," he calls over his shoulder.

I raise my eyebrows and turn back to Lavinia. "Glad I had a full breakfast this morning," I replied, looking over some reports I'd had to type up on the arrest of the twins and Jeannie on Saturday.

"Why do you say that?" Lavinia asks, and I see she is hastily writing down some notes pertaining to her wedding plans.

I bite my lip, knowing that getting my relationship with Kassandra off my chest would be good, especially after doing a practice run on Lavinia first. "In a little while," I tell Lavinia quietly. "I want to be somewhat productive... Then maybe Matthew'll let us have a break."

"If you say so," Lavinia says with a smile, and we mutually go back to our paperwork at hand.

Two hours passed, and Lavinia and I were finally permitted to leave the squad room for lunch. Heading outside, the warm weather of the morning had faded, and rain pelted our hoods as we made our way down the block to a Chinese restaurant most of the squad had frequented over the years. Stepping inside, the smell of cooking oil was all consuming, and yet it smelled delicious that day. We got menus and were immediately shown to the table by Mrs. Su, the proprietor, who had known me since I was a little girl.

"I will get you your usual drinks," she said with a kind smile before slipping back towards the kitchen.

"I think I want fried rice today," I muse to myself. "What do you think you're going to get, Lavinia?"

"Moo shu pork—what does it matter?" she asked. "We're away from the squad room. What do you want to talk about?"

I sighed, lowering my menu. "Remember last week when you mentioned dating to me and I got all evasive?"

Lavinia smiled. "Of course—give me some credit. I tend to remember certain conversations, especially when the proper context is given."

I nibbled at my lip. "The reason why I was so evasive was because... I am seeing someone," I told her quietly as Mrs. Su arrived with our drinks. "Thank you," I said, shooting her a smile as she placed our cans of juice beside glasses filled with ice before leaving us to talk.

"Get out! You're seeing someone?!" Lavinia cries, reaching across the table and making a grab for my wrist. "Why didn't you tell me?! Who is he?! Do I know him?!"

I lowered my eyes. "Well..."

"Wait, I think I know," Lavinia says, nodding. "Erik Russell, Paxton's partner in the architecture firm. He told Paxton he was going to ask for your number... Did he ask you?"

I sighed, pouring my juice onto its bed of ice. "Oh, yeah," I replied sarcastically, recalling his champagne-smelling breath and his meaty hands as he mauled me after I'd stepped out of the ladies' room. "Long story short, I had to remind him that I was a cop before my badge found its way into his eye and my knee found its way into his groin..."

"What a prick! So _that's_ where that black eye came from!" Lavinia said, shaking her head. "Bastard told Paxton he walked into a door! And normally he's such a puppy when it comes to these things..."

I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. He doesn't come near me again, I won't have to arrest him."

"Okay, then," Lavinia said, stirring her drink briefly as she mulls over who my potential mates could be. "I give up. Tell me. Who are you seeing?"

I sigh, feeling my shoulders coming down in that one movement. "It's nothing bad," I explain to her, catching the worried look in her eyes.

"As long as they're not under eighteen or a potential or former suspect, it doesn't matter to me," Lavinia assured me. "Now, who is it?"

"Kassandra," I replied.

"Kassandra?" Lavinia asked, raising her eyebrows. "Your nanny?"

"She's a graduate student at Columbia University School of Psychology," I replied in a patient manner. "Kassandra is graduating in three months and has already received a job offer at St. John's Children's Hospital in Westchester County upon her graduation."

"How old is she again?" Lavinia wanted to know.

"Twenty-four," I reply. "She graduated high school at fifteen."

She hesitated. "Are you in love with her?" Lavinia then asked, intrigued, sipping at her drink, obviously curious.

I nodded. "Yes. I have been for a long time."

Lavinia lowered her drink. "So, you're...?"

I met her eyes and smiled. "Yes. Yes. I'm a lesbian."

"Does Owen know?" she asked.

I nodded again. "Yes. I told him over the weekend when he brought Alexandrine to me with Marcus. Marcus was supportive immediately, but Owen was shocked to say the least. I assured him that nothing happened until after we were divorced, but he knows that I was friends with Kassandra for years."

"How'd you meet her?"

"I'd just graduated with my Associate's Degree," I reply, my mind automatically taking me back to that day. "Owen was doing his residency, and that summer I took Alexandrine to the pool to begin mother and baby swimming classes. She adored it..."

"And that's where you met Kassandra? The pool?"

"Yes. She was nannying for another family at the time and we just sort of clicked —it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before."

"Were you ever...?"

I feel a flush blooming on my cheeks at the question. "Never," I reply. "I was married to Owen; I thought I knew what love was. Truth was, I'd only ever been with two guys and thought that was it..."

"Until?"

"Remember my sister, Chelsea? The one my parents adopted?"

"And the one who hurt Alexandrine?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Yeah, I remember," Lavinia replies, her tone bitter.

"Before talks about Chelsea or Owen being adopted even came up, Chelsea said she wanted to talk to me one night."

Lavinia cocked an eyebrow, saying nothing.

"I let her come into my room, thinking we were just going to have a sisterly conversation... Dad was working in his study downstairs, and Mom was having a late night with the squad. The younger kids were asleep, and Owen was doing a film project, so he was still at school..."

When I hesitate, Lavinia asks, "What happened?"

"She told me that she knew about me and Owen sneaking around," I reply. "We snuck around for a few weeks before our parents ever brought up wanting to adopt either of them. I don't know how, but Chelsea must've caught on; she never told me how, and I never thought to ask..."

"Did she threaten you?"

I shake my head. "No, thank god. But she did say something that disturbed me, and still does, even to this day." Lavinia is gripping the side of the table, listening. "What did she say to you to make you so freaked out?" she wanted to know. Lavinia's blue-gray eyes were immediately hanging on my every word, and I knew that her being enrapt wasn't so that she could gossip. She wanted to help me, or at least have another piece of the puzzle that was my bizarre life.

I shiver at the memory. "She said that, since she was two minutes younger, that I should be into her. Our bodies were the same, she said, and there was nothing like making love to a woman. With the two minutes Owen had on her, was two minutes that he would always be dying faster. Then she said that I would be much happier with her, and that if I knew what was good for me, I'd ditch Owen and let her have me herself."

"What did you do?"

I shake my head. "Told her to get out," I reply. "I told her that she didn't know what she was talking about, and that she was crazy."

"What did Chelsea do then?"

"Grabbed me," I reply, waving my hands at the area where my breasts were. "She took ahold of my nipples so hard that it hurt. She rolled them over and over in her fingers, laughing as I tried to push her away from me. Then, she pulled down the shirt I was wearing, and told me that I had to get studs put into them, for her. She said that I'd pay if I wouldn't let her have me, and then she tried to kiss me. I shoved her off, and told her to get the hell out, and thankfully, that time, she listened, but she laughed, reminding me that I would pay."

"And you did pay," Lavinia says quietly.

"Yeah—with my daughter," I say, my hands curling themselves into fists. "I take comfort that she's locked away—no more victims."

Lavinia nodded. "It'll be okay."

I smile at that. "Now that I'm happy and my children are safe."

"There's always tomorrow," she said quietly.

I stop myself from snorting. "Don't remind me."

2 DAYS AGO — TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 2047; 1:28 P.M.

"Come on in, sweetheart," my mother says, hanging up on her phone call as I show myself into her office. "You can shut the door, if you want. Take a seat. Just writing down something from the DA's office about Hunter's case. Then I'll be right with you."

I shut the door before perching on the edge of the provided seat. "No problem," I reply levelly. "Take your time."

"Sorry we didn't get more of a chance to speak yesterday afternoon," she puts in after finishing her notes. "The day just got away from us."

I give her a small smile. "That's all right. I had a nice lunch with Lavinia. It was all okay, I promise."

My mother cocks her head to one side, looking me over. "Are you okay?" she asks me, looking me up and down. "You look...different."

"Bad different or...?"

She smiles. "Good different," she assures me. "Wow. I haven't seen you this happy since you got to play little orphan Annie on stage..."

"That was a long time ago," I reply. "I'm a whole new person now."

"Really?" my mother asks. "How's that?"

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "Because now I'm living honestly with myself, but not in front of others."

She moves, walking around the desk and standing in front of me. "Sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything," my mother says. "No matter what it is, I will support you."

"What if I told you I was a serial killer or something?"

"Then I'd get you a damn good lawyer and hold your shield for you until you were found innocent."

I blink in surprise at that, but shake it off—there were more important matters to be attended to. "Listen, Mom, we have to talk."

"You want to transfer to another unit, don't you?" she asks. "Or maybe it's to another borough? With Kassandra's job coming up at the hospital in Westchester, it's only natural that you'd want to work close to her..."

I shake my head. "What?"

My mother leans back against the desk and says in a methodic manner, "Well, I wasn't born yesterday."

"Excuse me?"

"Your father and I know how long Kassandra has been your friend," she said easily with a smile. "He and I mutually suspected that after you ended things with Owen that it became more than just a friendship..."

"So, you two know, then?" I ask her. "You two know that I'm a lesbian?"

My mother sighs. "I saw it after you and I got back on speaking terms," she replies easily. "I knew that you were more invested in the marriage than he was, but also knew that if I said anything like that, you'd run for the hills."

I nod. "In retrospect, probably."

My mother chuckles. "We support you, honey—your father and I. We think that Kassandra is a lovely girl, and she certainly does well enough in school to get that job up at St. John's. I know you two will be very happy together." The phone rings then and she holds up her finger. "Hold that thought," she says, turning around halfway to answer it. "Captain Beckett, SVU," she says.

I see her face contort in horror. "What is it?" I ask her.

"Where?" she demands into the phone. "His multiple injuries sustained in the attack meant that he had to stay in the hospital until tomorrow. Why was he released early?! _Who_?!" she demands then, her voice entering "shrill" territory as Sonny opens the door from behind me and steps in, Matthew and Lavinia coming up behind him. "Okay... Okay, thank you," she says, hanging up the phone hurriedly and turning to look at all of us. "Hunter and Fin have been kidnapped from the hospital," she says weakly. "Fin came over last night from Chicago to be with him and now... They just got the security footage and it looks like there were signs of a struggle..." Her voice breaks.

"I have friends at the hospital," Matthew says. "I'll call them and see if they saw anything."

"Thank you," my mother calls after him as Lavinia hovers in the doorway, and I join her, watching my mother and Sonny together.

Sonny, meanwhile, has crossed the room and is holding my mother's face, and has his forehead pressed against hers. "It's okay," he says quietly, making no move to let her go. "Breathe."

My mother nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. "How could this happen?" she asks him brokenly.

"We're going to get our boys back," Sonny assures her.

 _Our boys_? I think to myself, confused.

"Go to the hospital—canvas the area," Sonny orders, never taking his eyes from my mother's. "You'll find something—you have to."

Without saying a word, I turn on my feel and stomp out of there. I grab my jacket and feel Lavinia at my heels as I walk out of there. She is silent throughout the ride on the elevator, and makes no protest as I automatically unlock my car and drive out onto the highway. She also says nothing as I keep on driving, not in the direction of the hospital, but somewhere else. Finally, I know she can't take it anymore, because she speaks.

"Where are you going?" she asks me.

"Just wait," I reply. "Just wait."

We arrive at the destination quickly—at the Sappo School hot spot on Long Island, which is a rather large rural park area which was great for star gazing. I make sure my gun is holstered appropriately, and park in the lot, and sense Lavinia at my heels as we walk down the curved path and into the woods. I can't explain it, but I just knew—I just knew that my brothers were in there, and that the two of them were in immediate danger. I hear voices as we get deeper into the woods, and I distinctly hear Russian accents among them, along with Jeannie's rather haughty tone that Hunter had always inexplicably found attractive.

"My dad's a cop." Fin's voice. "You won't get away with this."

"Shut up!" one of the twins ordered.

"My dad's a lawyer," Hunter puts in. "You _really_ won't get away with this."

"Shut up!" one of the twins ordered again.

"You took our dream away," one of the twins said—I think it was Alexander speaking, as he tended to enunciate his vowels a bit more.

"We wanted to be all-American," Vladimir puts in. "But when we come here, there is already team captain."

"Coach would not even let us try out for it," Alexander said. "We deserved the position, but he refused."

"That was his first mistake," Vladimir said with a growl. "Now, you and your brother will pay for wrongdoing done to me and my brother."

"And I get to watch," Jeannie said with a sweet giggle.

I turn to look at Lavinia just as we near the clearing. Alexander, Vladimir, and Jeannie all have their backs to us, while they've put Fin and Hunter in a kneeling position, hands behind their backs. I wonder if they're tied up but cannot see from this angle. If I walked to the other side of the clearing, I'd be able to see fine, but I would risk the others seeing me. I shut my eyes for a moment to think, and all I saw was red.

I saw Chelsea grabbing me.

I saw Ulysses grabbing me.

I saw everyone grabbing me in the line of duty when I was undercover as some piece of ass. But most of all, I saw _him_. Most of all, I saw Ryder Knox, the man who had tortured my mother in her youth, grabbing me. Assaulting me. Wishing to bring pain onto me. My eyes snapped open then and, ignoring Lavinia, drew my gun and stepped into the clearing.

"Police!" I screamed at them all, a bloodcurdling scream that would make your toes curl. "Get down on your knees now!" I said through my teeth. "Get on your knees, I say!"

Vladimir and Alexander turn to face me then, and their expressions are ones of delight and pleasure. They look at each other—their faces the exact copy of the other—and shake their heads. I can feel Jeannie's eyes on me, and I know she is annoyed that I've 'ruined' her good time. _Tough, sweet cheeks_ , I think to myself as I stare down the Russian brothers.

"Look at what we have here, Alex," Vladimir says.

"Yes, a very pretty policewoman, Vlad," Alexander acknowledges.

"Leave her alone!" Hunter shouts.

"Stay away from her!" Fin yells.

"Shut up!" Jeannie hisses at my brothers.

"That gun is far too big for you," Alexander observes.

"Yes, we shall take it off your hands," Vladimir states, stepping forward with his brother, the identical, sardonic smiles on their faces.

"I'm warning you," I say through my teeth. "Hands _up_ , right now!"

"Calm down, little lady," Alexander says. "We shall protect you."

"Stop, or I'll shoot!" I scream. "Don't come any closer!'

"She is so amusing, isn't she, Alex?" Vladimir asks his brother.

"Yes—perhaps she should be silenced," he says, drawing what appeared to be a knife from his pocket.

"I like the way you think, brother," says Vladimir, drawing the same shaped object from his pocket.

"Knife!" Lavinia screams, springing from the bushes, but I'm far too quick for her movements.

In less than five seconds, I've shot both brothers through the heart. Each falls to their knees, but one falls backwards while the second falls forwards. Jeannie lets out a scream and runs to them, while I lower my gun and stand there, numb. I am watching the scene unfold before me: Jeannie sobbing, my brothers holding one another, and Lavinia checking to see if either one of the now-victims have any form of pulse.

PRESENT DAY — Wednesday, April 3, 2047; 11:19 A.M.

"You know you're allowed a union delegate or an attorney to be present during this interview, don't you, Detective Beckett?"

 _Whoa, formality_ , I think to myself. "I understand, Captain Grayson," I reply, not wanting to give my grandfather the satisfaction. I lean forward then, so as the microphone can pick up everything I'm saying clearly. "I'm here of my own free will and I don't want or need a union delegate or an attorney. I have nothing to hide from IAB."

"Okay, we'll commence with the formal questioning, then," my grandfather says quietly, shuffling the paperwork. "Can you account for your whereabouts Friday evening, the twenty-ninth of March at around twelve-thirty a.m.?"

I nod at him. "Yes. I was at the hospital, taking a statement from a victim and then it had been a long shift. I drove my partner, Lavinia Hatfield, back to the squad room and then went home."

"When did you arrive home?"

"I arrived in Long Island about an hour and fifteen minutes later, a bit after two in the morning," I reply.

"And what did you do when you got home?"

"I made sure my twins were sleeping soundly, called my father to tell him goodnight, and went to bed myself."

"No one besides your children were in the house at the time?"

"Their new nanny was there, Kassandra Stone—she was up late working on a paper for school."

"Did you see her at home?"

I nodded. "I did. She was sitting at the dining room table, on her computer, so she must've known what time it was when I came in."

"Did either of you speak?"

I nod again. "Yes, before I went upstairs to kiss the twin's goodnight. I asked her what she was working on."

"Did you specify what it was?"

I force myself not to sigh at the patronizing tone. "She did. It was her dissertation for her child psychology degree about nature versus nurture and the pros and cons of each method of child rearing."

"And then you went upstairs to see to your twins?"

"Yes. I went into the nursery, kissed them both goodnight, and then I went into my bedroom down the hallway."

"Where you made a phone call to your father?"

I nodded at him. "Yes. I called to make sure Hunter was all right and then I took a shower."

"You do realize that you potentially incriminated yourself."

I blink. "Excuse me?" I demand.

"The very statement—'and then I took a shower'. It leads to reason that you wanted to wash off incriminating evidence."

 _Son of a bitch_ , I think to myself. "That's not what I was doing," I reply. "It had been a long day, and I wanted to take a shower before going to bed."

"Who's Hunter?"

I fight and succeed in not rolling my eyes. "Hunter Beckett. He's my youngest brother and the victim I mentioned earlier."

"Your younger brother was raped at a high school party?"

I nibbled at my inner lips. "Yes," I replied tightly.

"You and Lavinia Hatfield were the responding detectives on the scene of the crime itself?"

"Yes."

"You had him taken to Mercy Hospital?"

"I did."

"Where you forced him to have a rape kit?"

I felt better knowing that my hands were in my lap, as they now twitched, my nails curling back and biting my palms. "I didn't force Hunter," I replied. "I explained to him the benefits of having one and he came to the conclusion that having one was better than not having one. It was his choice."

"After you left Hunter in his hospital room, what happened?"

"I went straight to the nurse's station and told them that Hunter had authorized the rape kit," I replied. "As I left, I saw a nurse heading back to his room to have it taken care of."

"And then what happened?"

I pursed my lips. "I went to the parking garage, where my partner was waiting by my car," I reply.

"What was she doing?"

"She was speaking to her fiancé—I didn't get much of the conversation, she cut the call as I approached."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"She told me that I looked like hell."

"And what happened next?"

I find I am at a loss for words.

"If you wish to continue at a later time, that is all right."

I purse my lips again. "No. No, I'm fine."

"Okay. What was said next?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Detective Beckett, you're allowed to have a union delegate or an attorney present, yet you've refused that right. Do you have something to hide?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Then speak!" my grandfather orders me.

I raise my eyes to his. "What am I being accused of?" I ask him, and my voice is set, firm, and he knows he can no longer get away with speaking to me in such a rude manner.

"Murder," he replies.

"My partner and brothers will testify against that, and Jeannie McMann, if she has any self-respect left," I mutter. "I may have shot Alexander and Vladimir Sokolov last night, but I didn't do it with malicious intentions. I did it because it was proven that both were packing and I had to keep myself, my partner, my brothers, and Jeannie McMann safe from any potential harm."

"Did you like the Sokolov twins?"

"I didn't know them personally," I answer honestly. "Did I know who they were at the time of death? Of course; they wrestled on the same team my brother did. Did I particularly like their actions? Of course not. Would you like it if someone kidnapped your brothers?"

"I only have a half-sister, detective," my grandfather replies. "And besides, this is a matter that concerns you, not me."

I straighten a bit in my seat. "You will find that there are no less than four witnesses attesting to my innocence."

"They will be interviewed."

"Good," I reply. "Because I'm a damn good cop. I saved my brother's lives from two young men who inhibit the pathology of future serial killers. So, don't you sit there and tell me that you think I committed murder, or I did anything wrong. I kept my partner safe, and saved my brothers."

"And Jeannie McMann," he puts in.

"Who will go down for a misdemeanor without a prison sentence due to her given statement," I reply bitterly.

"You don't sound very happy to hear that."

"My opinion is what it is, Captain Grayson," I reply.

"Do you shoot to kill, Detective Beckett? Or is it Detective Stone now? Will you be marrying your girlfriend?"

That statement set my teeth on edge. "That's none of your business or concern, and it no bearing on this investigation."

"Do you shoot to kill, Detective Beckett?" he asked me again.

"If the situation calls for it."

"And when does it call for it?"

"Anytime there's immediate danger to police officers or potential victims," I reply, hoping that that is the end of it.

My grandfather looks down at his paperwork before asking, "Do you expect special treatment, now that you've outed yourself as a lesbian? Do you intend to take out a lawsuit against NYPD for discrimination if you're found guilty of the crime of murder?"

"I won't be, because I'm not," I say, getting to my feet. "But I'm done," I say, walking towards the door and exiting the room.

END OF SEASON 1


	11. Poison Ivy

Chapter Eleven: Poison Ivy

I find myself walking on the sidewalk, disconcerted as to which direction I am going, and suddenly find that my lack of emotion has to do with the fact that I could be accused of murder. With that accusation, I knew that it could manifest into a conviction, and, from that, my credibility would be completely shot. I could lose everything—my job, my family, Kassandra—all of it. As I took the long walk back to SVU—knowing that my mother could put me on mandatory leave—I found that I was falling further and further into despair.

Kassandra graduated with honors precisely two months later, with enough fanfare that I thought it was time to consider more permanent arrangements. With us now living full time in Westchester County, and the kids with us on a more permanent basis—and with Alexandrine fully understanding of the situation—I knew that time was nigh. Owen and Marcus had the twins that weekend, and I'd planned a little something romantic for Kassandra and me.

Now that the mandatory investigation into whether or not I'd committed murder was over—of which I'd been found not guilty—I was free to keep up my job as a detective at Manhattan SVU. I was saving that little piece of information until the romantic getaway, although I knew Kassandra was desperate to know. What with her job already lined up at the best hospital in the Westchester County area, we both knew that a proper celebration was in order.

With our things already packed in the trunk of the car, we said goodnight to Owen, Marcus, Alexandrine, my parents, Kassandra's parents, and the twins before getting into the car and driving off. The air was sunny and warm and Kassandra hung her arm out the window to catch some of the rays of the sun as we drove north along the I-87. I could sense that Kassandra was curious as to where exactly we were going; however, I'd managed to memorize that MapQuest directions, so I wouldn't need an explicit GPS. Of course, this irked Kassandra, because then she would not be able to guess where we were going and the notion that it irked her made me smirk and caused her to be tempted to demand to drive back home in the opposite direction.

I knew that the drive would be over an hour and, as such, encouraged Kassandra to get some rest as we drove. I didn't want her to be exhausted by the time we arrived at our destination; I'd planned the three-day weekend down to a T. The two of us would arrive at Glenmere Mansion—one of the romantic hot spots in New York—just before dinnertime, whereupon we would check-in, and order room service. It was the following day that Kassandra and I would walk around the beautiful Goose Pond Mountain State Park, taking in the beautiful scenery and enjoying the secluded area that seemed so quiet. That afternoon, we would have a spa day at the mansion, which would relax us up plenty for a candlelight dinner. Then, on our last day, Sunday, I planned that we would walk around town and buy Alexandrine and the kids some souvenirs.

I parked the car once we arrived at the mansion, and Kassandra was perfectly awestruck at what lay before the both of us. We each took our bags and headed inside towards the concierge, who smiled at the pair of us. I assumed he thought we were sisters or friends but it didn't matter to me—not today. I stepped forward slightly, for I'd been the one to make the initial reservation.

"Good evening," I said to the man, who nodded. "It should be one of your Deluxe Rooms, under the name Leia Beckett."

"Let me have a look," the man replies, turning to his computer and typing in a few things before nodding. "Ah, here it is," he says, nodding in approval before turning back to me. "I'll need a valid credit card or ID, Miss Beckett."

I smile at him. "No problem," I reply, delving into my purse and retrieving my wallet, and notice he does a double take when my detective's badge flashes momentarily from its customary place. "Here we go," I say, handing over my ID and flashing him another smile.

"Thank you," he replies, keying in some information onto the computer before nodding to himself. "I see here you've already put a credit card in connection to your room here," he says, lowering his voice automatically. "Ending with 3685, Miss Beckett. Is that the one?"

"That's the one, yes," I say, showing him my card.

"Wonderful," he says, completing the intake form before handing back my ID and turning around. He opens little cupboard doors with golden knobs at the back and fetches two platinum keys for us and hands them over. "You'll find your room on the second floor—room eleven."

"Thank you very much," Kassandra says before I give a wave to the man and we make our way towards the elevator. "He seemed nice."

"I don't think he knows we're together," I say, laughing.

"Probably thinks we're—I don't know—half-sisters or something."

I try and fail to stifle my laughter as we step into the elevator. "And now I'm tempted to tell him that we are..."

"Why?" asks Kassandra, perplexed, as I click the button for our floor as the doors shut behind us.

"To see the look on his face when I tell him we're sleeping together," I reply, and manage to peek at her.

Kassandra lowers her eyes, gritting her teeth to prevent her laughter from escaping them, yet failing miserably. "You're terrible..."

I step closer to her. "Is that why you fell in love with me?"

Kassandra peeks up at me. "One of the many reasons, yes."

I give her a half-smile, leaning in and kissing her. "Well, I do hope this weekend is full of other reasons. Ones that I'm delighted to hear about."

Kassandra rests her head on my shoulder briefly as the doors open before us, and I let her step out first. "I look forward to it," she replies.

. . .

" _You're at risk of throwing away your career, Leia. I just hope you realize that before it's too late."_

" _That's it?" I ask, staring at my mother across the top of her desk. "That's all that Grandpa said?"_

" _He's worried about you," my mother replies, concern radiating through her face as she looks me up and down._

 _I scoff, leaning back against my chair, digging my shoulder blades into it, so as to cut myself off slightly from this line of questioning. "Gee, I mean, it was almost as if he was talking to a total stranger. It was as if I didn't matter to him. I just couldn't believe..."_

" _That he could do that line of work?" she asks, smiling ruefully. "Yes, my own mother was reluctant to allow such a thing."_

 _I cock an eyebrow. "Even she couldn't tell Grandpa what to do, right? I mean..." I say quietly, leaning forward. "...they didn't have_ that _kind of marriage or anything, did they?"_

 _My mother tries and fails to hide her smile. "Not that I'm aware of. Other than their initial separation when I was very young, they didn't ever fall out of love with each other. They were very much in love, so far as I know." She nibbles her bottom lip, pushing various papers off to one side before centering them again; her brow puckers, almost as if she's holding something back. "Leia, it's just... I don't know how to say this..."_

" _Say what?" I ask. "More problems from Grandpa?"_

" _Always," my mother says, reaching up and massaging her temples. "Other than the unnecessary bashing he gave you earlier this afternoon, have you spoken to your grandfather at all lately?"_

" _At all? You mean...?"_

" _For pleasure," my mother replies, shrugging. "Or, you know, just to say hello. I mean, suffice it to say a lot's been going on lately, but I'm just curious..."_

 _I straighten ever so slightly in my seat. "What aren't you telling me here?" I ask her, pondering it momentarily. "Is Grandpa all right? He's not...dying, is he?" I say, my voice automatically lowering as I say the controversial adjective. "I mean, he may have torn me a new one today, but..."_

 _My mother smiles. "I know—you're compassionate, something you definitely inherited from my mother," she says, reaching out and clasping my hand briefly before withdrawing it._

" _No, I haven't," I say, answering the unanswered question that was inexplicably hanging between us. "Why?"_

" _Ophelia's pregnant," my mother replied, naming my step-grandmother who couldn't have surpassed her mid-thirties._

 _I raise my eyebrows. "Wow," I say._

" _All they know so far is that it's triplets, but apparently they couldn't get a clear picture in the ultrasound or something," my mother tells me, sounding slightly annoyed. "Oh well," she says, shrugging. "You would think by now that children wouldn't know how to play hide-and-seek until after they were born..."_

 _I give her a small smile. "We're always hiding from something, aren't we?" I ask her, giving her a slight shrug._

. . .

I awake earlier than Kassandra on our second full day at Glenmere Mansion, and know that, because we're on vacation, she will likely want to sleep late. I decide to go for a run before she wakes up, and then cross my fingers that she will want to take a shower together upon my return. I pull on some jogging clothes that I'd hidden in the bottom of my bag, and pulled them on. After securing my hair in a tight ponytail on the back of my head, I popped in my earbuds and set my phone onto vibrate as I quietly left the room.

I took the elevator downstairs and slipped my room key into my pocket as I waved to the concierge on the way out the main doors and onto the back cobblestone path and towards a trail of trees beyond. My feet crunched ever so slightly on the gravel as my feet fell one after the other upon it, and soon I was in my stride. A mixture of Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and Sia pumped in my ears every three to four minutes, and I enjoyed the change of pace from the 1980's of which I'd grown so accustomed. It was almost as if I was part of Taylor Swift's monologue of _Look What You Made Me Do_ , which was so in sync with what I did day to say, although I hoped never to be framed with someone else's gun. _Perfect crime_ , the phrase itself, stood out to me. It was one of the questions that had also stood out to me on the detective's exam. It had asked us what constitutes a perfect crime, and the whole "wearing gloves" thing, which so cliché, was just so textbook to consider. Of course, the microscopes or whatever was used in a situation like that were likely used to detect latex or cloth fibers of some kind. You know those woolen gloves random people promote on Pinterest that claim the cross stich is so easy to accomplish? Like those.

It is when my workout playlist stops and _It's the End of the World as We Know It_ by R.E.M. fills my ears about fifteen minutes after I'd set out that I know that something is amiss. I come to a full stop then, just midway down the full length of the path, and take my phone out of its holder and see that it is my mother calling me and I swear under my breath. My probation period had been over about a week before Kassandra's graduation—where I'd been shamed into having desk duty from seven a.m. until six p.m. five days a week. However, even though I was now on vacation, I was, apparently, permitted to be contacted, and things were officially full-throttle—or, at least, they had to be, if my mother was resorting to calling me so early and when I was out of Manhattan proper.

"Good morning to you, too," I said, not even trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. "How may I help you?"

"I know, I know," she says, immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know you are," I say, leaning up against a weeping willow, which just about demonstrates how I'm really feeling right now. "Okay, spill it—spill it all," I tell her. "What's up?"

"There's a teenager here—a girl," my mother says. "Her name is Angel Porter, and there's evidence of self-harm. She won't speak to anyone except for me, and even I'm having a hell of a time getting through to her... Carisi's trying to work his charm, and it's not going to well..."

"How old is she?" I ask, turning and beginning to trudge back in the direction of the mansion, self-loathing setting in.

"Sixteen—or, she says she is. She's too thin," my mother tells me quietly. "I'm thinking she's bulimic or anorexic."

"Or she was starved!" I say, a little too harshly, even for me. "Sorry, sorry," I say, coming to a stop a short time later on the other side of the trees, where the path first begins. "Listen, Kassandra and I were on this trip..."

"Sweetheart, I understand—you're celebrating your divorce in full from Owen and her graduation from medical school."

"No, it's not that," I say, lowering my voice. "I was going to ask Kassandra to marry me tonight."

"Oh... Oh, honey... Well, I can see if Olivia can recommend someone, if you think that's best—" "Kassandra has her degree, and her job at the hospital kicking in soon, so I'm going to bring her along," I tell my mother. "She's not going to be happy at our mini-break being cut short, but maybe when I tell her there's a child in need, she will want to help. I know this is police business, Mom, but you've brought in shrink's before..."

"What age range is Kassandra certified for?" she asks.

"Children and adolescents," I reply. "As young as three and as old as nineteen. As Angel is sixteen..."

"You're right," she allows. "Bring her in, then."

. . .

 _I approached the rehabilitation clinic with a significant amount of trepidation; I mean, logically, of course, I wanted to get clean. Factually, I was still in the mindset bouncing from I wasn't worth it and that I wanted to continue to feel the buzz of the alcohol. I stepped up to the clinic doors and turned halfway, waving off Owen with a halfhearted smile before opening the doors and lingering in the doorway, afraid. Finally, I forced myself completely over the threshold, and nearly stumbled towards what I assumed was the check-in desk._

" _Excuse me," I said quietly as the woman in front of me hung up the phone. "My name is Leia Torrance..."_

" _Oh, yes," she said with a pleasant smile. She opened a file cabinet and looked through it before pulling out a file which was stamped_ _LEIA TORRANCE_ _in such a firm manner my eyes nearly watered. She opens it and skims through all the paperwork and nods to herself. "I see you've filled out all our intake forms online, and you've passed the background check. Okay," she says, opening a drawer in her desk and handing me another folder. "Inside you'll find a map to the entire facility, plus your key, which has your room number on it. Your schedule is inside there, too, plus a question and answer sheet," she says, and hands everything over to me. "Any questions?"_

 _I shake my head. "No, I'm fine, thank you."_

 _The woman smiles again and nods. "All right. Go ahead and head upstairs and you should find your room fairly quickly."_

" _Do we share rooms?" I ask, feeling stupid._

" _No, the only time you'll seen anyone is during the therapy sessions, workshops, and mealtimes," she tells me. "In your bedrooms are a dresser, a bed, a mirror, a television with a Blu-Ray player, and shelf space. There's also a bathroom attached to every bedroom, so no need to look far."_

 _I smile and nod. "Thanks again," I say, moving past the desk._

 _I head up the two flights of stairs and make a left into the hallway, before pulling out my room key. The number 345 is stamped onto it, and I continue down one hallway and up another, before finally meeting the 300 rooms. Finally, my room comes into view and I unlock it gratefully, stepping inside and savoring the click it makes behind me. The bed is a standard twin XL, the dresser is a dull pine with a mirror above it, and there are shelves along the wall beside the T.V. cabinet, plus a nightstand beside the bed._

 _The nightstand has a phone on it, which, upon further examination, connects to the front desk and all divisions of 911. I supposed that private phone privileges were in a place that could be easily monitored by the staff so as nobody could go wandering around looking for their next fix. The bathroom has a bath and shower attached, plus a sink with a second mirror above it, and a toilet. The bath mats are drab numbers you could get in the bargain bin at Target, and the floor tiles are an unimaginative aquamarine color._

 _I first decide to put my duffel on the bed and to unpack my bag, which I do in less than fifteen minutes. I put the socks and underwear into the top drawers, my shirts in the third drawer, and my pants—mainly jeans—in the bottom drawer. I've brought two different pairs of sneakers, one of which I shove at the bottom of my pants drawer, wary of thieves. I then fold up my duffel bag and put it behind the T.V. cabinet, whereupon I sit down on the bed and take a look at the schedule that the receptionist said would be in my folder._

 _It is nearly eight o'clock in the morning, and breakfast is at nine-thirty, and I know then that I'll have to try and make a go at eating. From ten-thirty until noon, I have an individual therapy session with doctor-in-training, Kassandra Stone. From noon until one-forty-five, I have lunch, and I noticed on the Q & A sheet that I'm allowed to return to my room at any time. From one-forty-five until three, I have group therapy, and from three until five-thirty, I have a workshop—cooking, the one I picked on the intake form. From five-thirty until six-forty-five, I have dinner and then from six-forty-five until ten, I have recreation, which can be taken in the swimming pool, watching T.V. in the common room or my bedroom, or reading in the library, to name a few._

 _I head downstairs for breakfast after a nap, giving myself ten minutes to find the cafeteria on the map. I select a bagel and homemade jam for breakfast, topping it off with some hot tea with lemon to calm my nerves. I spread the strawberry jam slowly upon my bagel, trying not to think about drinking as I faintly hear the clock in my ear every few seconds or so. I chewed my bagel slowly, wondering when I last consumed anything that didn't come in a bottle, and shook my head. How could I have let it get this far? Not even looking at anyone else in the cafeteria, I dumped the last uneaten bites of my bagel and pulled out the map again as I headed out of the cafeteria. The therapy rooms were on the second floor, and it was about five minutes before my appointment with Dr.-In-Training Stone. She was supposedly in room 221, and I was pleased to see there was a whiteboard with her name on it, written in a happy pale green marker, complete with a flower magnet. I knocked on the door when the correct time came, and it came upon not half a moment later, and it took all I could not to gasp on the spot._

 _What stood before me was the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen. She wore her bright red hair in large, abundant curls and her hunter green eyes were hidden beneath her black plastic glasses. She smiled her pink, lip-gloss covered mouth which I would bet money tasted the same as my jam on my bagel and put out her hand in a bright, yet efficient manner._

" _Please come in, I'm Kassandra," she said._

" _Leia," I said, clearing my throat. "Thanks," I said in my own tone of voice as I shook her hand and awkwardly stepped inside the room. "So... Should I just launch into my 'poor me' story, or should I give you some background on myself first?" I ask, moving to sit on the couch against the back wall._

 _Kassandra Stone blinked and moved to sit at the black swivel chair beside her desk and computer. "We can talk about whatever you want," she replied, picking up her clipboard and making an effort to smile at me. "Tell me what brought you here today, Leia."_

 _I felt totally disloyal to Owen immediately as her eyes met mine, and I flushed then, lowering my eyes to my wedding ring and twisting it. "My family, I guess..."_

" _Your husband?" Kassandra asked, and I was shocked to hear half a grain of disappointment in her voice._

 _I nodded, keeping my eyes fixated on my diamond. "Yeah—he said I should try this for the benefit of our daughter, Alexandrine," I said quietly. "I'm the one who's with her most of the time; he's a resident at a hospital in TriBeCa so he's always on the go, so to speak..."_

" _How old is Alexandrine?" she wants to know._

Easy question—finally _, I think to myself. "She just turned four in June," I reply with a boasting smile, finally having the courage to look at the mouthwatering specimen in front of me. Speciwoman...?_

 _Kassandra blinked, looking down at something she'd presumably written down to remind her of something. "But, on your intake forms, you listed your age as twenty-three—isn't that right?"_

 _I nod. "Yes. I'm twenty-three."_

" _But that would have made you...?"_

" _Seventeen when I got pregnant," I reply, nodding. "I know. It all came as a shock to my family, but I didn't tell them until after I was eighteen. Then my husband and I got married... It was a complex relationship..."_

" _Complex?" Kassandra asks, curious. "What does that mean?"_

" _My mother and father actually fostered Owen, my husband, and his twin sister, Chelsea," I say quietly. "Suffice it to say, deception and I have quite a long history..."_

" _How did all that happen?"_

 _I bring up one of my legs to the couch, resting my palm flat on my knee. "We all went to the same school, but we weren't in the same social circles... One day, my family was matched with Owen and Chelsea. I was seeing someone when they first started living with us, but Ulysses—my ex—and I got into it one night and Owen saw us. Ulysses was the captain of the football team and was about to assault me when Owen came to the rescue. We got together that night and never broke up, which was complicated because my parents wanted to adopt Owen and Chelsea but it's not like...you know..."_

" _Did they adopt them?" Kassandra wanted to know._

" _They adopted Chelsea," I reply. "Owen made up some excuse about staying true to his family name and we successfully continued to hide our relationship. Then I got pregnant and moved in with Owen and then... Well, Chelsea figured out that Owen and I were together and having sex..."_

" _What did she do?"_

" _She blackmailed me," I replied simply. "Forced me to fork over cash in exchange for her silence." I shrugged. "It still hurts that my family kept her to live with them and not me... One adopted kid for another..."_

" _You were adopted?" Kassandra asks, flabbergasted._

 _I nodded. "I was. My adopted father was actually my uncle; I'm his younger half-sister's child. She was murdered and so my mom and dad took custody of me. This was after their honeymoon and my mom found out she was pregnant with my little sister, Felicity."_

" _Any more siblings?"_

" _Two younger brothers, Fin and Hunter," I tell Kassandra. "My family is just a jumbled bit of drama..."_

 _Kassandra gives me a sympathetic smile. "Hey, we all have our baggage," she tells me gently. "Just takes the right person to talk to and have listen to every bit and piece that there is to know."_

 _I nod. "Yeah, the right person..."_

. . .

I dash up the cobblestone path and make my way towards the main doors of the mansion then, knowing exactly what I need to do. It's like breathing; you just have to do it to live. _Breathe_ , I tell myself as I dash in the main doors and head inside, directly towards the elevators. I press the button fervently, and finally it arrives just in time for me to hop in and press the button to the correct floor and head upstairs to my room.

Once the doors ding and fly open, I dash down the carpeted hallways and unlock the room door. I open it and shut and lock it behind me, walking through the living room area and into the back, where the bedroom was. I hesitate in the doorway, and see Kassandra, her milk-white skin corresponding nicely with the white bed linen, her hair a wave of bright red on the pillow. I bite my lip, recalling again that first day we'd met, and how much I'd wanted her, but had remained faithful to Owen in body, if not in spirit, for my heart had belonged to Kassandra from the moment I'd laid eyes on her.

I went to the secret compartment of my duffel, and unzipped it as quietly as possible, taking out the black velvet ring box and approaching the bed. I took off my shoes and unzipped my jogging jacket, so that I stood before Kassandra in my tank top and skin-tight sweat pants. I took my hair down for good measure, so it fell down my back as I approached her, ring box hidden in hand, as I climbed up onto the bed next to her.

"Kassandra?" I asked, gently shaking her bare shoulder. "Kass?"

Her perfect eyelashes fluttered momentarily as she moaned ever so slightly as sleep came away from her. She sat up in the bed, pulling the comforter with her as she did, and locking her green eyes to mine. "It's not even eight," she moaned, and rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes. "What's going on?"

"There's an emergency at work," I said.

"Dammit," Kassandra said, throwing back the bed clothes and stomping off towards the bathroom, her perfect ass getting the first glints of the morning sunshine within its dimples. "We're barely gone for two days and suddenly there's an emergency! Jeezus, Beckett! You're a mommy's girl and a workaholic!" she shouts, turning on the water to the shower.

I bite the insides of my mouth; why did she have to be so goddamned sexy when she was angry? Man, was it hot... Immediately, I stripped down and hid the ring box underneath a pillow and stepped into the bathroom with her, and she did a double-take at my body. Even after two years in love with me and four months of sleeping with me, she never got tired of my body. She ran her hands over it rather compulsively as I stepped forward, closer and closer to her, before dragging her hands away and stepping into the bath.

"I'm supposed to be mad at you," she says petulantly as I step in behind her, and pull the curtain around us. "And normally, I'd say no to duel showering, but we are in a hurry..."

"Please," I said, molding myself to her, pressing my breasts into her back and causing her to shudder. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

Kassandra's mouth drops at my wanton behavior, wetting her hair and moving aside so as I can do the same to mine. "Stop it, Beckett," she said, proceeding to rub shampoo into her scalp. "I mean it—you are so in trouble."

"It's a teenage girl," I tell Kassandra as I begin shampooing as well. "Her name is Angel, and there's evidence of self-harm."

"Poor girl," Kassandra says, compassion leaking into her tone.

"Exactly," I reply. "I've asked my mother if I could bring you along since you have your degree. Maybe you could talk to her."

Kassandra sighed, crossing the shower to rinse out her hair. "I'll talk to her—of course I'll talk to her. It's an obligation."

I smiled, looking up and down her backside, permitting myself a fondle as I walked by to rinse my hair. "I love you," I said over my shoulder.

"I love you, too," Kassandra replied.

We got out of the shower, toweling each other off and blow-drying our hair before pinning it up for the long drive ahead. We stepped back out into the bedroom, and I proceeded to grab some work appropriate clothes for the two of us. I grabbed bras and panties for Kassandra and tossed them over to her, which she managed to catch and step into, while she straightened out the bed. I bit at my bottom lip, watching her only when she wasn't looking at me, as I pulled on one of my suits and she a blouse and a skirt. Finally, as she moved to straighten the pillows, my stomach did a somersault as she felt beneath one, before withdrawing her hand in shock. She then dipped back underneath the pillow, this time bringing out the box and turning it over and over in her hands.

"Leia?" she asked, confused. "What's this?"

"Oh, a thousand pardons," I replied, crossing the room. I took the box from her and smiled at her perfectly shaking fingers. "Look, I love you more than anything, Kass—well, romantically-speaking," I said, tilting her chin up as she let out a delicious giggle. "Ever since the day that you were my therapist in rehab... Just wow, Kass. It took all I had not to grab you and throw you down on that couch, and it wasn't too long afterwards that you were thinking along those lines as well. I am so sorry I couldn't allow myself to let go and realize what is—that I'm a lesbian, who knows what I want. And I want you," I said, going down on one knee and opening the ring box with the back of my index finger.

The platinum band carried with it a two-carat circular diamond surrounded by expertly-cut emeralds on either side of it. It took all I had for me not to start sobbing the moment Kassandra did, as she shook her head in amazement. Was it my words, my honesty, or the sheer shock of it all that caused anyone getting proposed to to act this way? I didn't know...

"Yes, Leia," Kassandra said, wiping her eyes and offering up her shaking hand towards me. "Yes. I'll marry you."

I grin up at her, slipping the ring onto the appropriate finger before getting to my feet, embracing Kassandra, my fiancée. My _fiancée_. I had no idea how wonderful it was to attach that word to the woman in my arms, and I just didn't want to let go. I pulled back, and we shared our first kiss as an engaged couple, and it was in that moment that I felt complete.

"Angel," Kassandra said.

"Right," I replied.

. . .

We arrived back in Manhattan about an hour and twenty minutes later, heading directly to the SVU squad room. Kassandra's ring gleamed on her finger, and it felt good knowing that she was out in public with it, telling the world that she was taken, by me. Yet my own hand felt naked, so I knew that she and I would have to go ring shopping for me quite soon. Thankfully, it was business as usual after my mother apologized for cutting our trip short, and giving us a quiet congratulations on the engagement, followed by Carisi, who hadn't, unfortunately, gotten any further with Angel.

"Don't understand it," Carisi said quietly to us in my mother's office. "I like to think that I have a way with the young kids..."

Kassandra tries not to laugh, while my mother shakes her head.

I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Carisi, it's people who say 'have a way with the young kids' that clearly don't...have that," I tell him gently.

We stepped into the room where the likely frightened teenager was being kept, and I was pleased that there was a half-energy bar in front of her, along with some orange juice, half-drunk. Kassandra and I moved across the room, sitting in front of Angel, where I was able to put a face to the name for the first time. She was of Asian descent, with the traditional long, silky black hair which went down her back, although hers was full of tangles. She was shivering, even from underneath the borrowed police blanket, and I noticed her arms were riddled with cigarette burns and cuts from a razor blade.

"Hello, Angel," I said gently. "My name is Detective Beckett. This is Kassandra Stone—she's a psychologist. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Don't mind," Angel replied, and I detected a British accent.

"Very good," Kassandra said with a smile. "We know that you're sixteen, Angel, but can you tell us what month you were born?"

"May," she replied.

"Do you know the date?" I asked carefully. "Your birth date?"

"May thirty-first," she said softly.

"So, you just turned sixteen," Kassandra said.

Angel nodded. "Yes."

"Very good," Kassandra said again. "Can you tell us where you were born? Was it somewhere in England?"

Angel hung her head slightly, almost as if ashamed. "Yes. In Tottenham," she said quietly. "Northumberland Park."

"Gang area," I whispered to Kassandra; I'm not sure if Angel heard. "How did you manage to get to Manhattan?" I asked.

"The gang—it traffics drugs," she said quietly. "Sometimes, on a freighter from Tottenham to Southampton. Then, the ships go into the harbor here... I couldn't take the life. I was a runner, I was. And because I was young and...pretty," she says, shuddering, "nobody ever suspected me. But I never did get mixed up completely, no sir. No drugs did I ever take."

"That's good, Angel, really good," Kassandra assured her. "However did you manage to get here undetected?"

"Wasn't for long," Angel said quietly. "One of the gang members must've called an associate over here. That's how they got me. Made me do things..."

"What things?" I asked softly.

"Play with me—for money," she said. "I was lucky if I got a few quid for what I was made to do. Sometimes, I got food. Sometimes, I got these," she says, showing us her arms with the burns and scratch marks, some barely healed, some nearly fresh like from days past. "That's if I wouldn't go with some of the men. Some of them were smelly, or they scared me..."

"You're safe now," Kassandra said softly.

"What were their names?" I asked her.

"Simon and Johnny," she replies without hesitation. "Simon Markham and Johnny Townsend. There be your men."

"Where can the police find them?" asks Kassandra.

"Harlem," Angel whispers. "You'll find them in Harlem, in the slums."


	12. Talking to Myself

Chapter Twelve: Talking to Myself

Being married to Owen never felt wrong, it just felt like something I needed to do at the time. Not just for me, but for Alexandrine as well, for I always envisioned having the perfect, two-parent family everyone wants. I guess I was worried that if I didn't move out of my parents' house during my pregnancy—while subsequently keeping it hidden from the both of them—that they would ultimately tear her from my arms and make me give her up for adoption. Of course, that didn't happen, and while I think certain things could've been handled differently, I always thought I'd made the right decision for myself...

"Working hard or hardly working?" Carisi asks from behind the wheel, as the windshield becomes more and more splattered with unseasonal rain. "Hey, earth to Leia! You still with me?"

I snap out of it immediately, hand on my gun. "What's wrong?!" I demand, and nearly throw my arm across his front. "Are we being shot at?! Where are they?! I need to know if we're surrounded!"

"Hey, take it easy," Carisi says, managing to ease my arm from off of him as he puts his foot on the gas again as the traffic light changes. "We're halfway there now, Leia—it's all good. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe."

I nod then, vigorously, trying to get the flow of my breath to match my heartrate as best as possible. "Breathing—right. Breathing's good..."

"Thought I lost you there for a minute," Carisi says with a smile. "You doing okay there now?"

I slump back against the seat and sigh. "I'm not-not okay," I say, taking my other arm by the wrist and peeling my fingers methodically off my gun. "It's just a lot to take in right now..."

"What is?"

I nibble at my bottom lip. "Sonny, you're a traditional guy..."

"Yeah?" he asks.

I turn towards him slightly. "Well... When you and Amanda were together, you're the one who ended up proposing to her, right?"

"Yeah, I was," Carisi confirms. "We were very much in love. Funnily enough, she did make me take her ring shopping right after the proposal..."

"Was it just really spontaneous or something?" I ask. "Did you not have a ring when you asked her to be your wife?"

Carisi chuckles. "No, I had a ring. It just wasn't her style."

"Oh," I say, nodding. "She wanted a bigger diamond didn't she?"

Carisi's brow puckers. "No, not exactly..."

"Well, don't beat yourself up," I say, patting his shoulder ever so slightly as we go through another intersection. "It's not so unusual that a girl wants her husband-to-be to switch out the ring. I was just lucky enough to know what Kassandra's dream ring was and whatnot..."

"No, that wasn't it either," Carisi replies. "Amanda wanted a ring with a pearl as the center stone, in silver, all surrounded by diamonds."

"And Jesse?" I ask, mentioning Amanda's daughter. "What did she want out of all of this?"

"To call me Daddy-Sonny," Carisi tells me, affection in his voice. "And to be the flower girl on the day of."

"Did she get that?" I ask. "Did Jesse get what she wanted?"

"Sure, then," Carisi says. "We can't always get what we want, Leia. It's better you know that now..."

I blink then, confused. "Sonny... You're not telling me what I think you're telling me, are you?"

Carisi turns to look at me as we're stopped at yet another traffic light. "And what if I am?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I just..." I slump back against the seat, fully processing it. "You just put on a happy face because you were still married to Amanda, didn't you?" I ask, my tone quiet. "You seldom drink..."

Carisi lowers his eyes, gripping the steering wheel. "True."

I nod to myself, and I can't bring myself to look at him completely. "So, what you're saying is... You tried to make your marriage to Amanda work, based on you're being Catholic... But you really...?"

"Yeah," Carisi says quietly. "Yeah. I wanted to be with your mom. I saw the opportunity when we were in Texas together. Normally I wouldn't have done anything about it, but we were both blitzed out of our minds... I guess what I'm trying to say is, I only threw myself one-hundred-percent back into my marriage with Amanda when it became clear that your mom and dad were definitely getting back together..."

"Would you have done it any other way?" I ask.

Carisi presses his toe against the gas pedal again and we drive out into the intersection, closer and closer to Harlem. "I would've liked to have known Fin more," he confesses. "Other than that?" He shrugs. "Who can say what would be better at this point?"

I nod, accepting that as a form of an answer before turning to look out at the abundance of rain again.

. . .

 _I remember being so head over heels in love with Owen, back when I believed that it was the only option my life had in store. He always said I looked the most beautiful when I was pregnant; of course, given the momentary resentment I felt during our marriage breakdown, I thought it was because I'd be less willing to get into bed with him. Now, I saw it as a reflection period, although, of course, it was all different, back when I was living the façade of what so many women believed was "it"._

 _My weeks at rehab only went smoothly because of Kassandra; I would awake after what should have been soothing night sleeps, drenched in sweat, after having dream after dream about her. I thought it was a side effect of withdrawal from the alcohol, as well as seeing Kassandra as my heroine, so to speak. As my heroine, I thought the dreams I was having were completely normal, in that they mainly involved us sitting and talking, as we usually did. As time went on in the clinic, I found myself only wanting to have one-on-one sessions with her; I knew that I had to get my compassion back by listening to other people's issues with alcoholism or drug abuse, but it wasn't that easy to do._

" _And that's when I realized I had to do something," said Ruth Claymoore, a woman who was raised by her white mother, while her mixed heritage father, Silas, had left the family. "I blamed my father for so long because I thought it was all his fault. My mother never kept alcohol in the house, so I automatically assumed it didn't come from her side of the family." She brought up one leg close to her chest, nibbling on her bottom lip, slightly thicker than the upper one. "I guess I didn't realize at the time that my mother was in recovery herself; I had everything—she worked as a marketing executive for this carpet company." She smiles a little then, as tears are brought to her eyes. "She was so compassionate about math, and it killed her that I didn't have that enthusiasm. She tried to convince me to give up painting, but I just couldn't. I took up a job at sixteen as a junior tour guide for the local art museum in Detroit—where I was born and raised—and I just felt so much like myself... That's when I met Clark Breckenridge and he was everything I wanted..." She stops for a moment, almost as if reflecting on her misdeeds as a young woman._

" _Go on, Ruth," says the group leader, Sadie Bentley, a kind woman in her thirties who had received her PhD as an eighteen-year-old. Her eyes are blue and kind and her skin resembles sun-kissed beach sand. "Tell us a bit more about Clark as a person. Was he someone older?"_

 _Ruth nods, hunching her shoulders—she's insecure. "Yeah. Yeah, I met Clark just after my eighteenth birthday—his dad was the current owner of the museum and Clark took it over when he turned thirty... He said I was beautiful and said that he loved how my eyes looked like rare onyx beads... He would become lost in my skin tone and always attempted to come up with a name for its color. I continued working on college and showed him my portfolio, and he was so impressed that for my twenty-first birthday, after I graduated, he gave me a wing of the museum for my own show. Everything was coming up roses; because I'd gone to school on a scholarship—because, let's face it, my mother wouldn't have paid for me to attend art school, even if it was Cranbrook Academy of the Arts—I had no debts. During my wing opening, two wonderful things happened... Watson Lamonia, an art gallery owner—coast-to-coast—told me he liked my work and wanted to set me up with my own space. I got the loan from the bank and was allowed to pick any property I wanted, and I did..."_

" _What was the other wonderful thing that happened?" asks Charlene Bradford, another member of the group._

 _Ruth squares her shoulders, and says what anyone who's halfway decent about knowing what a plot point will be in any kind of film, book, or play. "Clark asked me to marry him," she replies._

" _And then what happened?" Sadie asks gently._

" _I said 'yes'," Ruth replies. "Why wouldn't I? I was in love with him."_

" _It's just on and on with her!" I raged quietly to Kassandra during our therapy session the following day. "It's so boring—it seriously sounds like a cautionary tale that's somehow required reading in the eighth grade..."_

 _Kassandra raises her eyebrows. "That response surprises me."_

" _Why?" I demand, turning back to her, my hands on my hips, my pacing officially interrupted. "Why is it so surprising that I don't give a damn about Ruth Claymoore and her poor me life?!"_

 _Kassandra shuts her book and, effectively, her case notes. "It's just that you seemed like you were a much more compassionate person, Leia," she says quietly, her perfectly arched eyebrows narrowing in concern._

 _I sigh, sinking back onto the couch. "Somebody should sue me then," I mutter, my tone bitter. "Gawd, what's wrong with me?" I demand of myself, leaning forward and putting my head into my hands._

 _Kassandra gets to her feet and moves to sit beside me; she places a hand on my shoulder, and I feel my skin prickle immediately at her touch, although I just manage to keep my cool. "Tell me what's really wrong here, Leia. Don't you want to talk about it?"_

 _I bite my lip. "I guess I just saw a little of myself in Ruth, you know?"_

" _Because her husband was an addict, who plied her with alcohol and drugs, or because the marriage failed?" she asks, a trickle of what I soon realized was hope entering her eyes. "No," I reply, hating myself for causing the fire in her eyes to die. "No, because I don't know who my birth father is." I lean back against the couch again, the green wool irritating my skin and causing me to stiffen in discomfort. "I mean, do I want to know who he is? Sure. But... I don't know. I think there's a few things holding me back..."_

" _Like rejection?" Kassandra asks, opening her notes again._

 _I nod. "Yeah. That. And then potentially anger from one or both my parents and the accusation that I wasn't enough for either of them..."_

 _Kassandra nods. "Well, being upfront and honest is always a good policy," she puts in gently._

 _I scoff. "Yeah, and look where I ended up, by being the opposite?" I say, and the question hangs between us, in an uneven balance._

. . .

"Leia."

I turn at Carisi's voice, straightening up in my seat. "Yeah?"

"We're here," he announces, pulling the car into park and getting out of the car. He stands on the sidewalk in the rain, not bothering to move back under the awning, and just waits for me. "You good?" he asks.

I nod, slamming the door behind me and moving after him. "Yeah. Fine. Do you remember where exactly it is where we're going? She described the crossways but couldn't give us the exact address..."

"Close to the Harlem River—just around this corner," Carisi replies patiently. "It's sick what these people do—pimping out children to the highest bidder with no regard to the law..."

"Or common decency, or the children's feelings on the matter," I reply bitterly as we walk around the corner, the rain splattering down onto our raincoats. "You think they'll be waiting in an alley—like an ambush?" I hiss at Carisi then, and proceed to throw out my arm to stop him.

Carisi stops dead, nearly slipping on the rain-covered sidewalk. "Never thought of that," he mutters, lowering his hand towards his holster. "What do you suggest, then Leia?"

I bite my lip, becoming momentarily distracted by the rain rather unceremoniously pounding down on my hood. "Don't give away your weapon, for one thing," I say in a hiss at him. "You know as well as I do that certain gangs favor guns, whereas other prefer knives. There's no way of knowing which territory we're walking into in any case... You called the Harlem SVU didn't you?" "Your mom wired them just before we left, while you were saying your goodbyes to Kassandra," Carisi replies in affirmation. "She sent them our coordinates and let them know the general area. She gave them my car GPS signal and they were supposedly right on our tails from the opposite direction..." He raises his eyes upwards, through the rain, as two people come towards us from down the street, each wearing nondescript raincoats. "The code word today was eggplant, although I don't know why they would choose something so distracting..."

"Only because you're Italian," I say, giving him a wry smile.

The two men on the opposite side of the sidewalk come into our midst, and the senior of the two steps forward, closer to us, ever so slightly, a tight smile locked onto his face. "Code word?" they ask, catching the glimpse of our badges, slightly hidden beneath the edge of our raincoats.

"Eggplant," I say without hesitation. "Color of the day?"

"Bronze," says the other police officer. "Detective Alex Remington, this is my partner, Sergeant Isaac Alden."

"Pleasure to meet you gentleman," Carisi replies. "I'm Lieutenant Dominic Carisi—call me Sonny. This is my partner, Detective Leia Beckett."

"Beckett?" asks Sergeant Alden, looking me up and down for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "You're Captain Beckett's daughter?"

"Her oldest, yeah," I reply. "Nice to meet you both. Thanks for letting us invade your jurisdiction—this'll mean a lot for a young girl who feels really alone and scared right now."

"Well, you can have them as soon as they're processed," Sergeant Alden replies with a tight smile. "As soon as they get sentenced, we want them back. We have a laundry list of potential crimes for them as well."

"Not a problem," Carisi replies. "We'll give them a hell of a time before you get them, as long as you're willing to return the favor."

"No problem," Detective Remington says.

"Great," I say, turning and walking down the alley, the three men of various ranks at my heels. "Let's waste these sons of bitches."

. . .

 _This twin XL bed takes a bit longer than I would've liked to really get used to, and believe me, having had a queen bed since high school, it took days if not a full week to do so. The very fact that it was my therapist that was keeping me up at night was a new sensation entirely. It was much easier with Kassandra than it had ever been with Owen; I knew this was likely due to the fact that Kassandra was not in a place to judge, rather, to help me on the road to recovery._

 _Morning came at long last after fading in and out of sleep for a miserable seven and a half hours. I went down to breakfast, ordering a specialty omelet with a couple sausage links and potatoes. I next went to the smoothie bar, requesting an acai smoothie with an energy protein boost to help me get throughout the day, with granola as some extra fiber content. I went to my typical table by the window, the sun creeping up past the trees, trying not to make it obliterate my vision entirely as I stirred the contents of my smoothie._

" _I soon realized that love wasn't enough to sustain the union," Ruth Claymoore said later that morning in group therapy. "Clark and I had a good five years before things changed completely. Our twin sons, Cornelius and Angus, had been born in our second year of marriage, and I had another baby on the way..." Ruth hesitates, wiping the tears from her eyes before continuing. "The fact that I was working inside the home and Clark was busy expanding the museum to Chicago seemed like a good business venture... I guess I just wasn't on my guard about things I should've been," she says quietly, rolling her shoulders. "It was when Clark's assistant Gianna called me to warn me that Clark was having an affair that finally broke me..."_

" _Who was the affair with, Ruth?" Sadie asks patiently._

" _Scarlett Sutcliffe, the property owner of the historical building in Chicago that Clark wanted for the new museum," she replied. "Scarlett was a fourteenth great-granddaughter of Baron Edmund Sutcliffe, a landowner in England who was an anti-slave member of the peerage in the 1690's—a revolutionary for the time. It was when I found out that Scarlett was heading the organization that I didn't even bat an eye—genuinely and foolishly thinking that Clark's womanizing ways were behind him..."_

" _What happened?" I asked then, surprised that the question had escaped my lips at all, and that I was genuinely curious about Ruth's story._

 _Ruth blinked, surprised that I'd said anything at all, yet not displeased. "Well, I confronted Clark about it, and I was shocked when he didn't deny it. I left one night while he was still in Chicago, going as far away as I could get—which just so happened to be to New York. Clark found us and he...he..."_

" _It's okay, Ruth. Remember, we're in a safe place," Sadie said gently._

" _Clark beat me and raped me," she replies. "He took the kids, leaving me alone in that apartment... I lost the baby," she said quietly, her vision eliminated by the sudden onset of tears. "It was a girl... I named her Zara Rowena Claymoore—because there was no way I would give her the name of the man who murdered her—and buried her. Then I took up drinking... Clark sent me paperwork for divorce and promised me that he wouldn't file kidnapping charges if I signed over custody to him and to Scarlett, who was now his fiancée..."_

" _You didn't consent, did you?" Olivette Winston, aghast._

" _Of course I did—I didn't want to go to prison for life," she replies. "I was too broken to fight, so I didn't... Things changed after ten years, when I got my own gallery and met Peregrine Carlton, who encouraged me to get sober. I entered rehab after dating him for three years. Now we're engaged, and I only have a few weeks left. I'm proud to be almost three months sober. I don't even recognize the woman in photographs before now... I'm just me now," Ruth says, a small smile on her face, twisting the diamond ring on her hand, as the whole of the room—me included—applauds her. "And maybe, just maybe, one day soon, I can see Angus and Cornelius again... I just hope they'll forgive me..."_

" _The will," I say, instantly. "Or, at the very least, they should. I hope they do," I finish lamely._

 _Ruth smiles. "Thank you," she replies._

 _I nod, suddenly feeling like a talking doll on display. "You're welcome," I reply, my tone stilted in awkwardness and uncertainty._

. . .

I barely glance at the rain-slicked brick walls around us of the alley, and instead find myself look for any forthcoming false moves from the gang members we were searching for. I turn my head halfway, and Carisi smiles and nods at me, as if to say, _I got your back_ , which sends relief washing through me. I feel my hand twitch as I want to grab my gun and kick down the door, but we are in Sergeant Alden and Detective Remington's territory now, and I know full well that we have to abide by their rules at all times.

I shuffle to the side then, allowing Alden to have at the door first; the case may be mine and Carisi's, but Alden had seniority here. Alden slowly and silently withdrew his gun from its holster, Remington at his side, before nodding at me and Carisi to have their backs. It was their call, and now the time had come for the appropriate reckoning for these no-good men. And just like that, Alden and Remington lift their legs and splinter the old, water-damaged, wooden door in front of us. Its nails, barely holding it down on one side, are rusty from the rain and moisture, due to a lack of awning, and the door gives way with ease. I barely have a moment to comprehend the shoddy manufacturing of the thing—that must've been generations older than me—now turning into halfway decent plywood as Alden screams aloud.

"Go, go, go!" he screams, and Remington and Carisi are just behind him, with me bringing up the rear. "Simon Markham! Johnny Townsend!" I scream, putting on the most badass, no-nonsense voice I can manage to get out, despite my distraction and lack of sleep. I feel the rawness of my throat as we step into the place, which reeks of cheap, stale beer and vinegar—heroin, I know immediately. Even when my mother and father would have our house cleaned professionally once a month, I found that the smell of vinegar would make my stomach turn. Forcing the bile down my throat, I step deeper and deeper into the drug den, inadvertently smashing already broken beer bottles with my shoes.

"Markham! Townsend!" Carisi says, his voice far tougher than mine. "Come out with your hands up! Both of you!"

"We know you're here!" Remington puts him, sounding more intimidating than his innocent face would have you believe.

"Out here now!" Alden says, and, finally, we hear the tell-tale squeaking of an old door before the creaks of shoddy floorboard.

Footsteps—two pairs of them—come reluctantly out from a back room, and it is then that I know that these are the men we're looking for. They stand there, almost momentarily frozen at the notion that they're surrounded by three men and a woman, and look completely bewildered. I wondered then if the door we broke down was the only way out, and then I believed that there weren't any windows in the back, or, at least they were too small to squeeze through.

"Hands where we can see them!" Alden says, and they comply instantly. "Now, which one of you is Simon?"

"Me," says the guy on the left, his voice like he got the wind knocked out of him, and I know he is frightened. Simon couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two, and my heart when out to him for getting mixed up in this lifestyle so, so young. He had dirty blonde hair, which was sticking to his forehead—he was dripping in sweat. He looked like a fair-haired Jim Sturgess type, minus the British accent, and his silver eyes stood out to me most of all, beneath his hair; they were so pale for his ruddy complexion.

"Hands where we can see them," Remington says, and steps forward to haul Simon away from there and out the door.

Simon comes willingly, breaking down completely as he is walked towards the only exit. "I'll tell you everything," he weeps. "Just please help me..."

Johnny's dark eyes alight instantly in betrayal at Simon's willingness to come clean just like that. His head is shaved, and he looks Hispanic or Latino, and his teeth are stark white against his thick lips. With his teeth bared in anger, Johnny is shaking all over in a moment of pure fury. "You goddamned traitor!" Johnny says, and proceeds to fumble in his pocket.

"Hey, hey, hey! Hands _up_!" Carisi says.

"Gun... Gun!" Alden says. It happens instantly—all in a span of a few seconds—but time all seems to become a separate entity, as it is suddenly slowed down. Both Carisi and Alden are loudly shouting for Johnny to put his gun down, but it doesn't do any good. Johnny pulls out two guns from his pockets—one for each hand—and points them at Carisi and Alden, pulling the trigger.

"Stop!" I scream, my voice shattering through the muted air as I dive for Johnny as quickly as I can. I tackle to him to the ground, using all my strength to hold him down and keep him there. I punch his head in, and, while bruised, he will live and, thankfully, he is knocked out cold. I get to my feet, turning him over, handcuffing him and lifting him up almost effortlessly—he couldn't have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds; the drug use had taken over completely. "Carisi, Alden, we'd better..." I begin, turning, which is when I see Alden seeing to Carisi, who has a gunshot wound to his abdomen. "Sonny!" I scream, my vocal chords feeling as if they will shatter from the impact. "No..." I say, dropping my grip on Johnny and running over.

"He'll be fine—the trajectory just knocked him out..."

"Call it in!" I scream at Alden, glaring at him. "For god's sake—you're not a medical doctor! For all we know, he could go into shock! Call it in!" I scream, my voice breaking as I cradle Sonny's head in my arms. "Sonny," I say, gently slapping his cheek. "Come on... You can't go out like this..."

"SVU Harlem—this is Sergeant Isaac Alden, Badge Number 5427. We're here at West 154TH Street—officer down. Repeat, officer down, requesting backup pronto, do you hear me?!"

"We all hear you loud and clean, Sergeant Alden. Paramedics are already en route," says the operator on the other end of the walkie.

. . .

 _Getting through rehab wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done, nor was it the hardest thing. After that, everything seemed to change; because I wasn't looking down the other end of a bottle for seventy-five percent of the day, I had more time to focus on Alexandrine, and my future. I had a new lease on life, and I wasn't just about to give it up._

 _For two solid years, Kassandra and I hung out as friends, and I was able to come to her for advice if I ever needed it. We were quiet about the body language I'd displayed during our therapy sessions, which many an outsider would describe as inappropriate, but it never came up in conversation. Kassandra was especially fond of Alexandrine, and it was wonderful to see them together. Alexandrine warmed up to her immediately, and it warmed my heart to see the positive interactions between them. Even Owen liked Kassandra, and he never begrudged me my time with her. The way he saw it, Kassandra had helped save my life, and had gotten on back on track towards our careers, motherhood and fatherhood, and our marriage. In his book, mind you, it was also great to discuss certain medical care strategies between them, and they would talk about such things for hours and hours on end._

 _Kassandra was especially helpful to me in looking over Alexandrine for hours on end when I did my work in police academy. After my passing, and me being a beat cop on the streets of New York, she and Cosmo would trade off in watching my preciously precocious daughter, who never ceased to delight anyone. While I had my work, my daughter—who was now five and positively delighting her teachers in school for six hours a day as well—I felt a little less guilty about working so much because of all this. Cosmo, Kassandra, and I took this opportunity for when Owen had a rare night off from his residency at Mercy Hospital to go out for some fun, and the both of them considerately did not drink in front of me._

 _Three more years went by and time came to a standstill again in the summer, just after Alexandrine had finished the third grade. When the discussion between Owen and I was opened about having further children, it was only natural to begin trying to expand our family. I confirmed my pregnancy in November, and Owen nor I could have been happier at this notion that more children would come from our marriage. When I told my parents, the reaction was the same, as were my brothers and sisters. Even Cosmo and Ethan had wonderful things to say about it, and when I figured out the proper way to explain what was going to happen to Alexandrine, I initially believed that everyone would be happy for us._

 _I invited Kassandra over one afternoon that I had off work, and when Owen had to go into the hospital. It was a weekend, and Alexandrine was out on the back patio doing her homework. Kassandra came at the correct time and we embraced before I put the kettle on and situated her in the living room with a plate of crudité before her and waited for the water to boil. Once it did, I put out our favorite tea cups and placed them onto a tray, after pouring the boiling water into a tea pot, which was full of tea bags. I placed the cream and sugar holders onto the tray as well along with a plate of cookies, and brought them out into the sitting area._

" _Smells lovely," Kassandra complimented as I set the tray down. "Did you bake those cookies?"_

" _I did," I replied, nodding out to where Alexandrine was sitting. "How do you think I got her to sit out there quietly doing her homework?"_

 _Kassandra laughed. "An incentive, or as a healthcare professional would call it—bribery."_

 _I raised my eyebrows in mock anger. "Are you suggesting that I bribed my own daughter, Kassandra?"_

" _Of course not," she replies as I pour her tea. "Well... Maybe a little," she admits as she proceeds to add sugar to the hot drink. "But it was for a good cause, so I don't think negativity will come out of it." She pours some milk into her tea, stopping halfway so as I'll have enough for me. "Where's Cosmo? Will he be joining us?"_

 _I shake my head. "No, Cosmo and Ethan went away for a long weekend," I reply, waving it away. "Some anniversary or other."_

 _Kassandra nods, stirring her tea. "I see," she comments._

 _I set down my tea after preparing it and smile, contented. "I just... I don't know. I called you over to tell you something..."_

 _Kassandra smiles. "You look happy..." Suddenly her face darkens. "What is it, Leia? Are you all right?"_

 _I nod. "Of course—everything's fine."_

 _She breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, good..." Her eyes raise ever so slightly, so as they lock with mine. "What are you telling me, Leia?"_

 _I smile at her again. "I'm pregnant," I reply._

 _Kassandra nearly drops her tea cup before returning it safely to her saucer, although her hands don't stop shaking. "I— What?! Pregnant?!"_

 _I nod, ignoring her shocked outburst as merely surprise. "Yes. We just found out last week. We've been trying for almost six months—"_

 _Kassandra looks up to see that Alexandrine is shut outside, before her eyes wet with tears and she looks away from me. "I... I thought..."_

" _What?" I ask, utterly confused._

" _Leia... I thought you were using this period to break away from Owen... And now this pregnancy changes everything..."_

" _Break away from Owen?" I demand, incredibly shocked at her. "Why would I break away from my husband? I love him!"_

 _Kassandra shakes her head before grabbing her purse and getting rather shakily to her feet. "I can't do this," she says, moving as quickly as possible out of the living room._

" _What?!" I demand, getting up and immediately going after her. "Kassandra—can't do what? I don't understand!"_

 _She turns around to face me, shaking her head as tears flow down her cheeks. "I love you," she says, reaching behind her and opening her door. "So unless you're telling me you're going to leave your husband and be with me, I can't be around you now—not for a while, anyway," she says, opening the door and slamming it shut behind her._

. . .

"BP 145/90," says a paramedic as they check Carisi in the ambulance en route to Mercy Hospital. "Upgrade to 'Priority One'. He's in significant distress—I need more oxygen..."

I am sitting on a makeshift seat just beside Carisi, just watching silently as the paramedics and EMT's work to do their job. I am just silently watching as they attempt to save him; they don't ask me anything, and I am steadfastly aware of their conversation to offer anything they may need. I am stiff as I get to my feet as we arrive at the hospital, walking in with him, but am barred from entering the surgery room. I am relieved when people are already there—Alden or Remington must've called somebody.

"Liv!" I say, my voice filled with relief when I see her standing there, and collapse into her arms, not wanting to be anywhere else.

"It's okay—it's all okay," she assures me, patting my back. "Wait... Leia..." She pulls back from me and looks me over. "Leia...?" she asks, and I suddenly see that my vision is blurry and I can't see straight. "Doctor!" she yells, trying to keep a good grip on me.

"Liv... What's happening?!" I scream aloud then, my knees buckling, officers rushing forward to catch me before I hit the floor, bright lights, nothing, nothing, screams... Never stopping. I feel my heart threatening to leave my chest as I struggle back to the surface; it is almost as if I am drowning. "Save...me. Let me be saved!" I moan, struggling again as I am forced down; the blackness has taken on a life of its own, and its threatening to return.

Nothing...nothing...

Darkness...

...nothing...

. . .

That sound of a heart monitor makes me want to scream as I think about how utterly cliché it all is as I regain consciousness. Eyes fluttering, refusing to see momentarily as they are blinded by the lights overhead. I raise my eyes all around me, and see Olivia standing over my bed, relief flooding her dark eyes as she sees me coming to. She offers me a cup of water, which I take eagerly, the frozenness of it saturating my throat with ice.

"Thanks," I say quietly. "Ow..."

"Careful," Liv warns. "You're going to be all right."

"What happened to me?" I whisper, recalling blood—so much blood... _Not Carisi's blood_ , I remind myself, _my blood_. "Where's my mom? And where's Kassandra? I want them here..."

Olivia sighs, gripping the counter nearby my bed. "Your mom is answering questions to the press, and they have Kassandra on air as well as your significant other pleading for other gang members to come forward—or their arrests, at the very least." She rolls onto the backs of her feet for a moment, thinking. "I heard about the engagement, by the way—congratulations."

I nod. "Thank you... But what happened, Liv? Tell me...please."

She looks around, almost as if the press could come barging in at any moment, and she doesn't want them to know... "Leia, did you know you were pregnant?" she asks me softly.

I shake my head. "No. No, that's impossible. I didn't... Owen and I hadn't had sex since February, before I found out about the affair..."

Olivia looks uncomfortable then, almost as if she feels compelled to ask me the next question. "Is it possible that Kassandra is assigned male at birth?"

I vehemently shake my head. "No!" I cry out. "I've met her family—her parents and siblings... They would've said... And I've known her for years. It would have come up, Liv..."

She nods. "And when did you two...?"

"Late February," I admit, feeling like a rat. "It all happened so quickly..."

Olivia sighs, unwilling to comment on that aspect of it. "The doctors confirmed the fetus had to have been at least five months or twenty-one weeks. You weren't carrying that far out, which is why the doctors didn't suspect. That, and you're with Kassandra..."

"Owen's then," I say, shaking all over again. "Was it...? What was...?"

"They said it was a boy," she confirms.

"Can I see him?" I ask, my voice breaking.

"I can ask, but I can't make guarantees, you know," she says, completely sympathetic for me. "You didn't...? You didn't know?"

I shake my head then, feeling terrible. "No..." I whispered.

"You were incredibly brave today," Olivia tells me. "You took a bullet for Alden and sustained a shot to your abdomen and shoulder..."

"Did that cause it?" I asked quietly.

Olivia sighs. "Could have, but the doctors likely thought it was preeclampsia that ultimately caused it to..."

She doesn't finish and I don't ask her to. She leaves me alone as I turn away from the door. I wish NO VISITORS signs with NO QUESTIONS or NO EXCEPTIONS were still the norm nowadays. All I wanted was to go into a fetal position, pull the blankets up over my head, and to not escape the darkness for a long time. I didn't even know the baby, and now I would never know him. And even though I may not get to see him, I decided then and there to have a proper funeral for him, and to give him a beautiful name.

"Oliver Lincoln Beckett-Torrance," I whispered to the darkness. "I love you," I said before the medication that was likely going through my veins put me into a hardly blissful slumber.


	13. The Reckoning

Chapter Thirteen: The Reckoning

"I've been out for three and a half weeks and I'm officially going insane—I have to go in today," I say, amid Kassandra's protests for me to stay at home. "I know you're worried, but I can wallow in my own self-despair for weeks on end." I turn around then, seeing Kassandra standing in the doorway, worry etched into her face and radiating through her eyes. "Look, I know you're concerned, sweetie, but I have to go in, really I do." I straighten my blazer as I step forward, leaning in to kiss her, but she turns her cheek so that I only get that instead.

"I still say it's too soon," she replies.

"I know you're worried, but they're re-opening a cold case and they need me," I tell her patiently. "Carisi says I'm one of the few detectives who understands the nitty-gritty, and I'm willing to take the chance of running at full-speed towards it because that's what needs to be done."

"May as well marry Carisi—you're always in sync now that he's requested you to be his new partner," Kassandra replied bitterly, pulling away from me.

"Uh, one problem with that," I say, yanking her gently back to me so as our eyes are locked. "I'm madly in love with all of this," I say, reaching behind her and cupping her perfect ass, "and he's got none of it."

Kassandra tries and fails not to laugh. "And there's nothing between you?"

"Of course not!" I cry out in disgust. "He's my mother's ex-lover, who for all I know is scamming on her half the time. Too close to home..." I shake my head at her, gritting my teeth at the very notion of it. "Uh-uh. Not happening under any circumstances whatsoever."

Kassandra shrugs. "If you say so," she calls after me as I move towards the door and the staircase, which will take me outside and to my car.

. . .

 _I had not seen Kassandra in fifteen months, and when I did see her, it came as a complete shock to me. It was after I'd managed to defeat Ryder Knox and had been released from the hospital, just in time to figure out that Owen was seeing someone else during our marriage. I began separation proceedings delicately, not wanting it to go so far that he ended up snatching the kids and taking them to somewhere like North Korea or Russia or something._

 _It was when I was out shopping one afternoon while my mother had the kids for the weekend that I ran into Kassandra outside a boutique. She looked great and said that her program of study at the rehab clinic had ended, and now she was applying her experiences to her notes for her doctorate. I expressed my congratulations and told her we should get a drink sometime—of course, a smoothie would have to suffice—and, taking note of me not wearing my wedding right, seemed delighted at the prospect. She and I then walked around Brookfield Place and got lunch and just kept talking and talking and talking._

 _Suffice it to say that me going back to her place was in the cards and when we arrived, it just seemed like something that I'd been doing my entire life. It wasn't about man or a woman in bed next to you—no, it was all about feeling good about yourself and making the other person feel good. And that's exactly what happened, making each other feel good, and when I asked her to be my children's nanny, she jumped at the opportunity._

" _When did you find out?" she asks me quietly, her fingers gently tangled in my hair, strewn across one of her pillows._

" _Hmm?" I ask, turning over to look at her. "Find out what?"_

" _That you were...you know..."_

 _I smile at her, biting down on my lower lip and feeling delightfully flushed. "You can say it."_

" _All right. Gay," she replies._

" _When I realized Owen was cheating on me," I said softly. "I know so many women could just be beyond pissed and then just want to experiment, but that wasn't me. Not at all, really." I sit up then, pulling my knees towards my chest, resting my chin on them. "I guess the moment it happened was when it hit me that I wasn't as angry as I should've been. I mean, this guy that I've been with since high school, and had three children with, and I'm barely angry. It's barely off the radar screen, to tell you the truth. I mean, we defied my parents for god's sake—and for what? For it to go up in flames the moment we get bored?"_

" _You think he was bored?" Kassandra asks. "Can't imagine why..."_

" _Thank you," I reply, "but after three kids, well..." I shrug._

" _Trust me, you look great," she assures me._

" _You know, part of me even thinks I shouldn't have been so hot to trot just to be with him, you know?" I ask her. "I think part of it was that I was so indebted to him from saving me from that bastard Ulysses that I felt like, I don't know, I owed him something and then it was just...done. And it felt so different—I mean, I've only been with three people in my life, you included—and I like to think that everyone's tastes and techniques are just so different..."_

" _It's true," she tells me._

" _Yeah, well," I say, leaning back up against the bedframe, "all I can say is, I was impressed enough to get knocked up at eighteen. And then we had Alexandrine and then the whole moving in together and marriage happened. Needless to say getting cut off completely by my parents was more than a little expected. My dad was furious and I, at the time, just assumed that it was because he didn't approve of Owen or us sneaking around and lying..."_

" _And what do you think now?" Kassandra asks me._

 _I turn and look down at her in the semi-darkness, before leaning down without hesitation and kissing her. "I think they knew the whole time," I reply. "I think they knew, or had their suspicions, about me being gay and they were pissed that not only had I been sneaking around and lying, but I'd also gotten pregnant and me and my traditional mindset would think I was obligated to stay with him for all time or something..."_

" _Do you still think that?"_

 _I shake my head, running my knuckles along her cheek. "No," I reply. "And my kids have to understand eventually. Have to understand all of it—Alexandrine first, of course, because she's older and can understand English. But someday the twins will understand too... And when that time comes, I'll be ready and waiting with an explanation..."_

" _Which is what?"_

 _I smile down at her. "Which is that I met someone I can't live without," I reply, again without hesitation. "I can't live without you, Kassandra. I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner."_

. . .

"Coffee and doughnut run? Leia, you're spoiling me," Carisi admonishes as I put down the doughnut box and his favorite coffee drink on his desk. "What do you think you're doing by providing provisions?"

"Nice alliteration there!" I compliment him. "And here I thought you were only a cop who had a taste for the law..."

"Ha-ha, very funny," Carisi says, selecting a Danish from the box and chewing on it slowly.

"Funny? I pegged you more for a jelly doughnut guy," I said, tutting to myself and taking the box back, before putting it on the communal table in the center of the squad room.

"Your mom'll want to see you," Carisi tells me, boss-mode fully activated. "You know you're back a few days before you're expected."

"Anticipated that," I reply, waving my mother's favorite drink—a caramel Frappuccino—past his nose. "One look at this, and she'll be practically begging me back full-time."

"Don't count on it," Carisi calls over his shoulder.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I call back as I knock on my mother's office door and am invited in quickly.

I shut it behind me and hesitate as she wraps up a phone call, waving me in and nodding in thanks as I place the drink down a few inches away from her paperwork. I stand a little back, gazing at the array of photographs my mother has accumulated on her desktop over the years, my favorite being one of Olivia holding me as a baby and waving in her triumphant way at the camera. That had been the one-year anniversary of Olivia's investigation of child protective services after there had been suspicions of her abusing Noah.

My mother hangs up the phone and turns to look at me, bringing the drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. "Does Kassandra know that you took the psych eval a few days earlier than expected?"

I roll back on the balls of my feet. "No."

She sighs. "I don't want you starting your engagement with a lie, Leia. You know how I feel about lying—and I'm not just being your mother right now. I'm also speaking as your commanding officer."

"Two lies," I reply.

"What?" she asks, confused.

I sigh, not knowing how to put this. "She still doesn't know about the second half of the hospital visit—the miscarriage," I tell her quietly. "Even though she is a doctor and know from a certain standpoint that Owen and I had not been intimate in some time, it's just not something I want to get into. That's uncharted territory and I'm not sure how to proceed."

"Well, I suppose I don't envy you that," she says quietly, bringing out some more important-looking paperwork. "In here, I have the results of your psych eval," she says, opening the folder. "And you passed," she tells me, handing it over. "With flying colors, I might add."

I take the documentation and scan it as best I can. "They say that my grief will be beneficial for dealing with victims. Great," I say, shutting it and handing it back to her. "Just put that into the file marked 'Sympathetic Detective'," I say, bitterness finding its way into my tone.

"Hey, that sympathy got you partnered with Carisi, so be grateful," my mother tells me firmly. "He's not one to beat about the bush, and he wants to be working with the best of the best."

"That or he thinks I can't handle it, and he wants to babysit me," I say, gripping the edge of her desk.

"Hush," my mother admonishes, opening her desk drawer and handing over my gun, which I take and strap to its proper place. "That serial cold case we got—he's waiting for you in interrogation one."

"Is that allowed? Keeping prisoners in there to fester?" I ask, turning towards the room for the first time and peering in. "I don't see a lawyer..."

"That's because he hasn't asked for one," my mother replies, getting to her feet and picking up her phone and pressing a button. "Carisi? We're all set in here. I'm prepping her now. Okay. Thanks."

"Why hasn't he asked for a lawyer?" I ask, proceeding to study his body language as my mother hangs up the phone. "Is he so far off the radar that his lawyer is somehow unreachable, or...?"

"No, I think it's because he doesn't believe we have a case," Carisi replies in his suave manner, stepping into my mother's office without knocking. "We haven't caught him yet officially, so it's not like he automatically thinks we have anything to link him to the crimes."

"DNA?" I ask as he moves to stand next to me.

"In the system—petty crimes as a young kid, sentenced as a juvenile, was back out on the streets upping the ante by the time he was twenty-one," Carisi continues. "I know as well as you do that it's something, but DNA doesn't lie..."

I turn to Carisi then, my mouth flying open. "You're not telling me we have a witness to what the son of a bitch did?" I cry out.

"We do," my mother tells us, stepping in between us and giving each of us a rather satisfied smile. "A girl who was seven and a half when the crimes happened—she was in the closet when the bastard was raping and murdering her mother. Didn't even think to check."

"And, get this, she wrote it down in her diary, every single year on the anniversary it happened, changing the language every year so as it would make more sense when we finally caught the guy," Carisi says eagerly. "Now she's a student at Hudson, and she's a forensic major. She wants to come and work for us as soon as she graduates and is on the beat for a few years."

"How do you want to play it?" I ask Carisi.

"What were you thinking?" he asks.

I grin at him, the seed having already been planted. "Why don't I get on his side—I arrested him a few years ago. Then you can come in strong while I ally myself with him. What do you think?"

He nods, seemingly impressed. "Sounds good—you have more history with him than I do," he replies.

"Let's nail him," I say, walking towards the door with confidence and opening it, all the rest of the information of the crime falling back to me. "Hello, Duke, do you remember me?" I ask him, fixing him with a sideways smile as I step forward. "Of course you do—you never forget a pretty face." "You arrested me for robbing that joint a few years back," he says fondly, looking me up and down. "You looked good in blue, but you look even better in a suit. I mean—hotter, actually."

I smile at Duke. "Why thank you."

He grins, playing right into the trap we're setting for him. "We should get a coffee or something, to catch up and to celebrate. I mean, I'm glad you moved up—the force needs more babes like you."

"Hey, you watch it!" Carisi says as we move to sit across from Duke. "You don't address my partner as a 'babe'! It's insulting—she's not one of your victims here, buddy."

"Hey, come on, Sonny," I say, flashing him a smile and turning back to Duke. "All I'm here to do is remember old times with you, Duke. He's the one with the problem here."

"Problem? What problem?" asks Duke in confusion.

"You see," I say, leaning forward, "my partner here thinks that we can finger you for these rapes and murders, all because you happen to live nearby. I say that's total bull, because obviously you're a stand-up guy who just so happens to find himself in desperate circumstances now and again."

"Yeah, yeah, that's right," he says defensively, his Brooklyn accent thick. "I ain't never done anything to hurt nobody. I only stole some stuff—sure, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do but, a guy's gotta eat..."

I nod. "Of course you've gotta eat," I say, nodding at him in sympathy. "I'm a little hungry myself... Do you like doughnuts and coffee?"

Duke grins. "Hell yeah I do."

"Carisi, why don't you go and bring us some?" I ask him. "And get the better bag of coffee—I don't want Duke to have to suffer by drinking the cheap crap," I tell him, winking at Duke. "And bring the whole box of doughnuts—Duke should have a choice in what he eats."

"Fine," Carisi replies, annoyed, getting to his feet and kicking his chair aside before leaving the room to do my bidding.

"Short leash," I tell Duke, winking at him again. "So, now that you know what I've been up to, let's talk about you. You were a plumber, weren't you?"

Duke nods at me with enthusiasm. "That's right—still am. Family business," he tells me proudly. "Ross's Plumbing. Our last name, you know."

I nod. "And what a fine last name. It's Scottish, isn't it?"

"Yeah, my whole family came over from Scotland over a hundred and fifty years ago," Duke continues. "We have some clan relatives over there."

"Clans are loyal—good to have on your side," I say as Carisi returns to the room with Duke's doughnuts and coffee. "Thanks, Carisi," I say, barely looking at him as he presents Duke with the food. "I'll bet they'd do darn near anything to keep their own safe..."

"Yeah, safe," Duke says, promptly slurping up his coffee and selecting a powdered doughnut, which he chews loudly, with his mouth open. "Those ladies weren't safe when I was doing what I was doing with them..."

"What ladies?" Carisi asks, and I could kick him.

"The ladies I hurt," Duke continues, utterly absorbed in his doughnuts.

"Were they ladies you were dating?" I ask him. "Did you break up with them when it became too much?"

"No—don't date. I don't like willing women," he replies, looking up at me and licking the powdered sugar from his fingers. "Although, you... You're different. I mean, _you_ I like."

I smile at him from across the table. "I like you, too, Duke. But... Tell me. Who were these ladies?"

"Ladies I saw on the job; ladies I met around the neighborhood." Duke burps before helping himself to another doughnut. "First one had to have been almost thirty years ago..."

I can barely contain my disgust. "The first one was when you were how old?" I ask him, trying to keep it together.

"Fifteen, give or take," he replies. "She was a woman who lived in my apartment building when I was growing up." He leans back, unlooping his belt slightly before replacing it on a looser setting. "She wanted it," he says, chewing his doughnut, a fair amount of powdered sugar leaving a dusting on his cheeks.

"What makes you think so?" Carisi asked.

"She always changed with the door open," he replies. "When she was separated from her husband, she stayed with us for a few weeks. She was friends with my mother—my mother was like a big sister to her," he continues, letting out another loud, unattractive belch. "Chrissy Harper—prettiest woman I'd ever seen. She was twenty-four and just perfect."

"Tell us what happened, Duke," I say quietly.

"Chrissy liked to take baths in the afternoon," he continues. "Dad would be at work and Mom would do the shopping then. I was supposed to be at school, but I would sneak back on the fire escape during lunch and just watch her. She knew none of the men were home, so she would leave all the doors open..."

"What happened?" Carisi asked softly.

Duke sighs, finishing his second doughnut and starting on a third. "I came to watch her in the bath one day and I was surprised to see my mom sitting there with her. I mean, they were so close that I didn't think anything of it, but when they started kissing..." He covered his eyes like a child might do, before slamming down his fist so hard down upon the table that it rattled against the floor.

"You were angry," I reply. It wasn't a question.

"Yes!" Duke practically screams, agony in his voice.

"You wanted to make them pay," Carisi said, feeding off his anger. "You had set your sights on Chrissy! She'd left her husband, and here you were—strapping young man—so naturally you thought she would choose you."

"I wanted to make them pay," Duke replies. "I could never hurt my mother—I was convinced it was all Chrissy's doing! She was trying to destroy my parent's marriage..."

"And by leaving the doors open, she was inviting you and anyone else to witness the sin she was committing," I said.

"Yes...sin," Duke said softly, angrily.

"You couldn't stand it—a Christian man like you," Carisi said.

"It was a sin because my mother was married to my father," Duke says calmly. "If she had left my father and taken up with Chrissy, I would've been upset, but I would have understood. It was their shared willfulness that destroyed me—and because I did want her for myself..."

"Duke, what did you do?" I asked him.

"After I watched them make love, I left, feeling disgusted... I did nothing, that day," he replies. "Part of my probation—I wasn't caught robbing again for another six months—was attending school as often as possible, unless I was found to be very sick..."

"You played sick," Carisi guesses. "We've all done it."

"I've done it," I say, attempting to align myself with Duke.

"I played sick," Duke affirms. "I waited for Mom to begin to go out shopping when I suddenly made a miraculous recovery. I told her I would call the school to tell them I was coming..."

"You didn't go," Carisi says quietly.

"I didn't go," Duke says, in the same quiet tone. "I waited until she left and then I went to Chrissy's room. She had decided to take her bath early, so I waited in there for her, and prepared the room. I pulled the curtains closed, I shut the windows, and I hid inside the wardrobe. When she came in, I attacked her... I didn't know what I was doing..."

"You were a virgin?" I guess, softly.

He nods. "Yeah... I just did what I thought was the way... And then I left her there, shaking, before I slashed her throat..."

"With what?" Carisi asks.

"One of my great-grandfather's razors—my father kept them in a case in the bathroom," he tells us. "My parents had their own bathroom and then there was the one Chrissy and I used... It was dull—the razor—and it took a long time, but I managed to do it."

"How did you dispose of your clothing?" I ask.

"Land fill—wasn't too far away," he replies. "It was trash day, so..."

"So you went to the landfill, then what?" Carisi asked.

"I showered in a building my dad had the key for," he replies. "I'd worked on the site with him the week before... The apartment had been a group home, and a new couple had bought it to refurbish it, but some clothes from the group home had been left behind. I found some in my size that looked enough like my clothes so that nobody would suspect anything..."

"And then you went to school?" I ask him.

Duke nods. "Yeah, and all before the first bell," he replies. "I was questioned and was believed that an intruder had broken in, because I stole some of my mother's jewelry and chucked it in a sewer drain," he says. "Expensive stuff, too—I didn't even know the value, I just guessed..."

Carisi sits forward. "What happened then?"

"My parents got divorced about a year later," he replies nonchalantly, almost as if it didn't affect him one way or the other. "My mother got a girlfriend pretty fast afterwards, and Dad took to the bottle. I started doing all my petty crimes then, with some murdering and raping in between to keep off the edge. Dad was so far down deep in the bottle he didn't care..."

"And your mom?" I asked.

"I was sixteen, so I got to pick who I lived with. Dad was sober enough then, and I was so betrayed by my mother that I chose him. My mom married her girlfriend and they adopted a few kids... Pretty soon, she didn't even call me to ask me how I was... No, 'How are you, Duke? Are you eating right, Duke? Do you need new shoes, Duke? Or a new sweater? Merry Christmas, Duke! Happy Birthday, Duke! I love you, Duke!' None of that..."

"Must've been pretty hard," Carisi puts in.

Duke shrugs. "I never went hungry or anything—I didn't eat much. And pretty soon I was locked up anyway. Once I got out, I took charge of the plumbing business and made enough to get my dad into rehab, but he drank himself to death by the time I was twenty-five. Just four years after my release..."

"And then what?" I asked.

"By that point?" He laughs softly. "Tessa Montgomery—June 17, 2026. Strangled, raped, murdered at her home in Queens; second victim. Third victim was Shawna St. James; September 21, 2026; stabbed, raped, murdered. Fourth victim, Theresa Abdullah, sliced and diced before finally being raped and murdered on December 31, 2026..." He sips his coffee, recalling all his victims. "Fifth—Marie Redmond; March 19, 2027. Strangled. Raped. Murdered. Sixth—May 28, 2027; Cynthia Fredericks; shot, raped, murdered. Seventh—Pauline Dixon, August 15, 2027, and she was strangled and raped and murdered..."

"Jessica Milano?" Carisi asked.

"Twelfth—strangled, raped, murdered; November 28, 2028."

"Maureen Stanley?" I ask.

"Fourteenth—shot, raped, murdered; June 27, 2029."

"Lucinda Daniels?" Carisi asks.

"Tenth—stabbed, raped, murdered; May 14, 2028."

"Rowena McPherson?" I ask.

"Thirteenth—sliced and diced, raped, murdered; March 29, 2029."

"You admit to killing these fourteen women?" Carisi asks.

Duke nods. "Yeah, I did them," he replies, not really paying attention, for his mind is preoccupied elsewhere.

"How many were there?" I ask, the nineteen years between his fourteenth victim and now unsettling to me.

"Less than a hundred, more than fifty," he replies.

"Seventy-five?" Carisi asks.

"Could be. Not sure," Duke says. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet," Carisi says, pushing a piece of paper and a pen towards him. "We need you to sign this statement authorizing what you said here today."

"Sure," Duke says, signing his name with little effort, and managing to get some powdered sugar on the pen.

"Good," Carisi says, taking the pen and paper away.

"Now what?" Duke asks.

"Now," I say, getting to my feet and getting out a pair of handcuffs, "get on your feet, Duke," I say, and when he doesn't listen, Carisi pulls him to his feet so as I can secure the cuffs on his unwilling wrists. "You're under arrest for the murders of Chrissy Harper, Tessa Montgomery, Shawna St. James, Theresa Abdullah; Marie Redmond; Cynthia Fredericks; Pauline Dixon; Jessica Milano; Maureen Stanley; Lucinda Daniels; and Rowena McPherson. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," I continue as Carisi opens the other door of the interrogation room. "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney," I go on as Carisi unlocks a cell door, "one will be provided for you." I unlock the handcuffs and move to leave, but Duke knocks me in between the shoulder blades so as I go crashing into the bars of the cell.

"Hey!" Carisi shouts, attacking Duke immediately and slamming him against the cell bars himself as I slowly pick myself up. "You just added assault of a police officer to your list of charges my friend. Keep it up," he says, turning him lose and standing back so as Duke crumples do the floor, "and you'll be mopping up your own blood... You okay?" Carisi asks, pulling me out of the cell and locking it up behind him.

"Yeah... Happy first day back to me, right?" I joke.

"Come on, Leia..." Carisi says.

"What?" I ask, moving back into the squad room.

"You know as well as I do that Duke's a jerk," he says as I roll my shoulders in an effort to get them not to lock up completely. "He could've..."

"Killed me?" I ask, cutting him off and turning to look at him. "I don't think so. If you hadn't stepped in, I think I would've been just fine."

Carisi sighs. "I'm sure you would've been."

"That's right," I say, picking up my coat, draped on the back of the chair. "Now, who is the girl we have to talk to at Hudson?"

"Leia, you _just_ got attacked by—"

"Am I bleeding?" I demand.

Carisi looks me over. "No."

"And I'm no doctor, but I know I don't have a concussion," I say, becoming more than a little exasperated. "What's her name?"

"Julia Tomlinson," Carisi replies.

"Good," I reply. "Let's go see her."

. . .

 _I remember the first vacation I went on with Kassandra; we went up the coast and to a beachside cottage. We had our own swatch of beach and the kids were with my mother again. There were trees growing up to create the feel of a forest around the property, so it literally felt like she and I were in our own little world. We went to the little shop in the nearby town, getting provisions for the weekend, planning on spending the entire time at the cottage._

 _Grilling was a no-brainer, and we grilled steaks and chicken and burgers and it was an altogether wonderful experience. The sand was soft beneath our feet and we would run into the water and shriek like children at the prospect of being so far from home. Splash fights were inevitable, and the notion that nobody knew us for miles around was a load off our shoulders as well. Every night, we would go to the back patio and share a glass of sparkling apple cider—pretending it was the finest and most expensive champagne—and watch the sunset unfold around us._

 _Such a thing of beauty it was, the contrast of colors that could never be painted as accurately or as gorgeously as the pallet we saw those nights above the ocean. And the look of Kassandra in that light was enough to make anyone swoon. It was in those three days that I fell in love with her, and never wanted to be without her ever again._

 _There was the small matter of my divorce which would have to be attended to as soon as possible, yet I knew Kassandra would understand. Now that she had me, and my assurances that I wasn't about to wander off somewhere, she was all too happy to get to know me at a slow pace. The children adored her—although the twins truly seemed to adore anyone who crossed their paths—and Alexandrine thought that Kassandra had the best stories._

 _The notion that this beautiful creature was mine was hardly an idea that I could simply grow used to overnight. From the beginning, my mouth had gone dry at her very existence, and yet, even then, I'd no idea what it was I was feeling. As a recovering alcoholic, all I thought was that it was a side-effect of the treatment process; never did I imagine anything of this caliber._

 _And as the sun set on the second night, I felt as if reality had set in and I made a formal decision. I would explain to Alexandrine, upon our return, just what had been going on. She deserved to know—she wasn't a helpless child, not in that way, anyway. She deserved to know—she did, and I was prepared to tell her everything of who I truly was._

. . .

"He's confessed?" Julia asks in shock.

"Yes, he confessed to your mother's murder," Carisi replies.

Julia grips her plum-colored bedspread in a wave of emotion. "I took my father's last name after she was murdered—he got custody, and him and my stepmother gave me such a grate life... My stepmother, Helena, adopted me and raised me like I was hers. I called her 'Mom' and everything but I was also encouraged to never forget Rowena..."

"We understand that you have some diary entries of what happened that night," I tell her gently.

"Yes," Julia replies, getting to her feet and crossing over to her shelf. She takes a leather-bound book from it and hands it over. "I kept all the previous entries before that, just for authenticity purposes. But every year on the anniversary of her death, I would go in there and update what happened... It's just so unreal," she says as tears enter her eyes. "I never thought he'd be arrested..."

"There's also the trial to think about," Carisi says.

I nod. "Exactly. The DA is bringing up the charges as we speak, and we should know..."

Carisi's phone beeps and be looks at it. "That's the DA now," he says, pressing a button and leaving the room.

"Detective Beckett, what happens if it doesn't go to trial?" Julia asks, her forehead puckered in worry. "I mean, what if, somehow, Duke Ross gets out and tries to come after me...?"

"Well, there are times when the judge can dismiss the charges without prejudice, meaning that we can re-arrest him pretty much immediately as soon as we get some new evidence—this will certainly help," I say, gripping her diary. "But if it's dismissed with prejudice, then that means this case is over forever, unless we can discover a different victim."

"Then that means that you wouldn't need me?" she asks.

"We could always try to get you as a witness but the other side could object—even if it goes to trial now," I reply. "And then there's a chance that the other side could say that these diary entries defame his client's character, but we can always fight it, and the judge could go either way..."

Carisi steps back into the room. "That was the DA," he says.

Julia lets out a small gasp, clutching her hands in prayer.

"What happened?" I ask.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	14. False Alibi

Chapter Fourteen: False Alibi

"Remanded without bail," Carisi says, a triumphant look in his eyes. "You can rest easier tonight, Julia—since Duke Ross has no significant ties to the community other than his job, so he's going to be in the can until his trial date."

"Has that been set yet?" I ask.

"Next week," my partner replies, pocketing his cell phone. "Don't worry—we've been given permission to sit on him until then, provided that he has his court-appointed attorney present."

"Please tell me the attorney isn't a Buchanan," I say. "Big guy in the attorney game—a figurehead, if you will," I tell Julia.

"Nah, he's too far out of Ross's pay range," Carisi assures the two of us. "But Captain Beckett called, Leia—we need to get back to the squad."

"Your captain is related to you?" Julia asks as we move to leave.

"My mother, as a matter of fact," I tell her.

Julia grins. "Cozy," she replies.

. . .

" _You sure had a hell of an upbringing," Kassandra says as we lay in bed together, just staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. "And you still don't know who your biological father is?"_

" _No," I say, shaking my head. "My mother donated her eggs to my aunt and then an anonymous sperm donor did the rest," I whisper. "Of course, at the time my aunt wasn't my aunt, so..."_

" _And you're sure she didn't ask your dad—her brother—to donate?"_

" _Half-brother and no. She was an odd duck, but not nearly that odd... Although faking her own death sure was icing on the cake," I say ruefully._

" _Yeah, I just want to pick her brain for a while—try and figure out why she decided that was the best thing to do..."_

" _I think she didn't want me to think that she was imperfect," I say, which is the most logical thing I can think of, although nothing about the situation was logical at all. "Parents are seen as perfect in their child's eyes for so long that, once we notice their imperfections—it's too late. We already love them unconditionally and then we just think those imperfections make them-them."_

" _Maybe you should've been the psychiatrist," Kassandra says, moving over and putting her head upon my shoulder._

" _Yeah, maybe I should've," I say, putting my arm around her. "God knows you and I are in similar lines of work—we obviously can't put names to faces but we can discuss certain aspects of our jobs."_

 _Kassandra finds my free hand in the darkness and interlocks her fingers with mine in a moment of pure, unadulterated love. "So, how did your little discussion with Alexandrine go today?"_

" _Wasn't so little," I say, trying not to laugh. "I mean, trying to explain to your eleven-year-old daughter that your mother is dating her nanny..."_

" _What did she have to say about it?"_

" _She already knew, which is the crazy thing..."_

 _Kassandra picks her head up, trying to catch my eye in the darkness. "We were so careful, per your instructions... How did she—?"_

" _Saw us kissing outside when we didn't think anyone was around," I reply, the laugh unable to escape my throat completely. "Of course, my initial question was did she think it was gross..."_

" _You didn't!" Kassandra cries._

 _I nod. "I did. And do you know what she said?"_

" _No, I don't."_

" _She said she didn't think it was gross, but that it would take some getting used to, so maybe we don't have to do it around her for a little while."_

 _Kassandra laughs. "Really? She said that?"_

" _I swear, she did," I reply. "Of course, I said that I completely understood and that you and I would be very careful in the future."_

 _Kassandra inches closer to me. "But not now, right?"_

 _I shake my head, turning towards her and brushing her lips with mine. "Not now, right," I reply._

. . .

"Glad you're back," my mother says as we enter the squad room. "Heard about the remand—that's what we were all pulling for."

"Best case scenario," Carisi puts in.

"Well, put Duke Ross on the back burner for now," she says steadily, motioning us into her office and hesitating for a moment before nodding to the interview room just next door. "We caught another live one."

"One of Ross's victims?" Carisi asks, advancing towards the glass. "Did he manage not to kill one? Or was this just a witness?"

"Neither," my mother says. "New case—entirely new."

"What happened?" I ask, stepping forward. The victim was dressed up in what could only be described as flamboyant attire, but it was torn in some places, and their makeup was smudged. "Poor guy," I put in.

"Leia—you sure you don't want to rethink that statement?" Carisi asks.

"Why?" I ask, turning to look at him. "Why would I?"

Carisi sighs. "I'm pretty sure that's a woman."

I turn and look at the person sitting in the interrogation room then, just as they take off their wig of flowing blond hair, and proceed to run their fingers through their pompadour cut. "Nice try, Sonny," I say, flashing him a smile. "Want us to take a crack at him?" I ask.

"Please do," my mother replies. "I just got a hit on a child abuse case and Lavinia and I are going to take it. Carisi, you're in charge," she says, grabbing her coat and heading back out into the squad room.

"You're not disappointed?"

I turn and look at him. "Why would I be?"

"Your old partner working with your mom, I mean."

I shrug. "Business is business," I reply, stepping forward and opening the door to the interrogation room. "Hey there," I say, smiling at the young man and sitting down across from him. "I'm Detective Beckett, this is my partner Lieutenant Carisi. We're here to ask what happened."

"Blake," the guy replies, his voice hoarse, and I think then that he must've been crying, which was understandable.

"Nice to meet you, Blake," Carisi says, and Blake raises his eyes to his, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yes, I'm a drag queen," he says, narrowing his eyes, his fake eyelashes coming into contact with his cheeks. "What's it to you?"

"I'm sure you're great at your job," I say, managing a smile for him. "But it doesn't matter what your job is or your legal status is. All we care about is bringing the people who hurt you to justice."

"Why is your partner staring at me?" he whispers.

"Why don't I get us all a cup of coffee?" Carisi says.

"Water, please," Blake says softly.

"Sparkling or flat?" Carisi asks. "Or we also have standard bottles..."

Blake raises his eyes to Carisi, clearly not in the mood for jokes. "Very funny. A standard bottle will be fine, thank you."

I reach into my wallet and pull out a few singles before handing them over to Carisi efficiently, my eyes never leaving Blake's. "Go ahead and make it two," I say, patting Carisi on the arm as he takes the money and leaves the room.

"You two seem chummy," Blake puts in.

"You have to be when you're on the job with someone."

"Is he, like, your sugar daddy or something?" he asks.

I laugh, and it comes out as a loud snort, even causing Blake's perfectly plucked eyebrows to raise in shock. "Carisi? No. We're not each other's type, believe me. I mean, for him—I'm too young. And for me—he's a guy."

Blake suddenly seems more at ease. "Wait. You're gay?"

I nod, flashing him a grin. "Yeah. I got married right out of high school to my second boyfriend, we had three kids, and then wham-o. He's gay and so am I. It was all pretty funny how it turned out. But we mean everything to each other and the divorce got all finalized and the kids didn't suffer, thank goodness."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"Some days more than others." I hesitate, watching Blake fiddle with the feather boa around his neck, pulling it closer around his frame. "Do you think you could tell me what happened to you?"

Blake lowers the boa as the door opens again, and Carisi brings us back out bottles of water. "Thanks," he says quietly.

"I'm just going to do some paperwork in the office," Carisi tells me quietly. "Will you be okay questioning Blake on your own?"

"No problem," I reply, opening the bottle and sipping the water, knowing full well that he will be watching from the other side of the glass. "We'll be just fine. Have fun with your paperwork."

"Thanks," Carisi replies, leaving us alone.

"So, did this happen last night?" I ask Blake gently, gesturing to his torn costume, black eye, and bruised cheek.

"Yeah, at a club I work at—Fruit Saloon."

"That's an interesting name," I put in.

Blake shrugs. "Pays the bills. I make my own costumes, but my sister works at a local fabric store, so I get the rejected fabric. The D.J. has mad skills and plays anything from Gaga to Bowie. You work out one new routine a week and can dance to whatever song you want. That's when the fun begins..."

"How's that?" I want to know.

"Well, depending on how well your dance goes over, the more you get paid. Plus, all the drinks and tips you can get."

"Do you ever do private dances?" I ask.

He nods. "Yes, we have an exclusive suite of rooms through a door to the right of the stage—VIP's only. Each cubicle features something a little different; you make up your mind previously with the client what they want out of you, and then the money is exchanged and then you do what they ask. If you're ever uncomfortable in the cubicle, there's a hidden red panic button that goes off in the bouncer's domain and they come to save you, so to speak."

"What has made anyone uncomfortable?" I ask.

"If sex is off the table, and the clients take it too far," Blake replies with a shrug of his muscular shoulders. "If they bend you over on the bench and take you by surprise, then all you have to do is press the button. The bouncers come running and take the client out, and he's banned from the premises forever."

"No exceptions?" I ask.

"Well, banning can come in a few stages," Blake tells me. "Sort of a three-strikes you're out sort of thing, depending on the crime committed."

"Such as?" I ask.

Blake clutches the water bottle, leaning back in the chair, clearly used to this line of questioning. "If you specified no touching the merchandise and they touch you, and you don't like or want it, they're banned for three months. If they kiss you forcibly, then they get banned for six months. If they touch you anywhere below the belt without permission, banning is a year. And if they try anything fully sexual—actual penetration, stuff like that, or attempted penetration—they're banned for life and then the bouncers sometimes perform a citizen's arrest or they'll just call the cops and hold them for you."

I sit forward slightly, not wanting to scare him off, but becoming more and more desperate to get to the bottom of this. "Do any of the other performers press the panic button? Did anyone do so last night?"

"Candy Cane—a friend of mine who dances to Christmas music all year round—pressed it earlier this week. She does a great Mariah Carey," he says. "Anyhow, C.C. pressed it after one of the VIP clients tried to bend her over. When she said 'no', he stopped, but she didn't press the panic button—not until he tried to do it again, but she pleaded for him not to be banned, because he pays her so well and he was really drunk..."

"Did she tell you about it?" I ask.

Blake shook his head. "No the client was into voyeurism and asked me to watch through a peephole on the side of the cubicle," he replies, a look of disgust etching into his face. "Look, I'm all for people liking what they like, but I seriously didn't want to see any of it."

I put the cap back on my water bottle. "Is it in your contract? That you have to do things you don't like or want to do?"

He shrugs. "Not really. But it was a difference of three hundred dollars—I was a hundred and fifty short on rent this month. I live with my sister, and we pinch pennies as it is. This way, I could easily pay my half and set aside some for groceries. It wasn't a huge imposition—the client was so focused on C.C. that he didn't check very often."

I nodded. "Did anyone else press it recently?"

"Other than C.C. there were two," he replies. "The first one was Bella Berry, who does songs that she thinks are sweet— _How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You_ , _I Want Candy_ —things like that," Blake explained. "B.B. pressed it after her VIP client tried to bend her over, too."

"Did this client request voyeurism, too?" I ask.

Blake shakes his head. "No, I promised one of the bouncers a dance after he got dared by his buddies. All the bouncers are sweet, and even though they're not supposed to fraternize with us, they do sometimes, but it never crosses any kind of line at all... I was giving the bouncer a dance when the panic button went off." He leans forward then, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There are cameras above the cubicles for the performers' own safety."

"Oh, yes, I see," I reply, nodding, the pieces coming together. "And the third performer to push the button?" I ask.

"Sassy Sparkle, who specializes in glam rock," Blake replies. "S.S. pressed it a day or two after B.B. pressed hers. The same thing again—the client tried to bend her over, and since it was three strikes, he was out."

"Just tell me one thing here, Blake... The one thing here that doesn't make total sense to me..."

Blake smiles a little sadly. "The fact that the VIP client wasn't banned when he should have been?" he asks.

I nod. "Exactly. That."

Blake sighs a little then, pulling his boa closer around him, bite marks covering his neck now covered up due to the thick feathers. "Bosses are notorious for being hypocrites, aren't they?" he asks. He lowers his eyes to his fake nails, some chipped and some pulled off entirely, likely due to a fight. "Follow my rules or I'll kill you, but I can turn around and do whatever the hell I want..." Blake stops talking then, taking the torn hem of his mini dress and attempting to pull it down over his torn fishnets, which do a poor job of hiding his bruised knees.

"Blake," I say, slowly, softly, "did your boss hurt C.C., B.B., and S.S.?" I ask him, my voice as gentle as possible.

Blake nods, lowering his eyes to his torn clothing, his eyeshadow smudged, along with his mascara, likely from crying. "Yeah..."

I nod, already suspecting the rest. "Was your boss the one who did this to you?" I ask him quietly.

He nods, a simple movement of the head. "Yeah..." He crosses his legs, then uncrosses them, in an effort to get comfortable, and fails miserably. "Without the cameras to stop him, he was able to take it much further..."

"How far?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Blake raises his eyes to mine, pain behind them. "I think you already know the answer to that, Detective Beckett," he replies.

"Where did it happen?" I ask.

"Behind the club, last night, after my last dance."

"How did it come up?" I ask.

"I didn't have any VIP clients that night, so I decided to just grab my stuff, hop in an Uber, go home, change, and then meet my sister for a drink..."

"But your boss met you outside?" I ask him.

Blake nods. "Yeah. Yeah..."

"Can you tell me what happened, Blake?" I ask.

He nods, tears coming into his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. "The brick walls and the pavement of the alley were slick with rain—there was nothing to grab onto," he tells me, taking his hands off from around the water bottle and showing me—his palms are rubbed raw from attempting to grab something. "My boss told me that he was satisfied with my work output that week and gave me a check for a thousand dollars—it felt amazing. Sure, he'd broken his own rules, but here was half a months' rent..."

"He made you feel special," I say quietly.

Blake picks up his water bottle again, wincing ever so slightly as he squeezes it a bit too tightly. "I didn't know that he was literally _buying_ me," he says quietly, almost as if he is loathing his decision-making.

"Blake, I need you to listen to me," I said, wanting to reach forward and take his hand but not wanting to encroach on his personal space. "You did nothing wrong. I don't want you blaming yourself..."

"But I _let_ him!" Blake cried out, looking up at me, his eyes a mixture of hurt and pain as the tears continue to fall. "I let him do it..."

I shake my head at him. "It _was not_ your fault," I reply. "Your boss was in a position of authority and took advantage of that. You have to understand that however you acted in the moment..."

"I..." He lowers his eyes to between his legs; it is a quick movement, before he shudders, ashamed again, and crosses his legs more tightly. "I got..." He runs a hand over his mouth, almost as if he wants to stop what he perceives to be damning words from escaping his lips. "I got...aroused..."

I shake my head again, lowering my eyes to the fading wood of the table between the two of us. "That is a normal reaction," I reply. "It doesn't mean you were asking for it to happen, Blake. I need you to understand that."

"He said it was like I was consenting," Blake wailed, putting his head into his hands and sobbing. "He said that because... Because I was so aroused that it was literally me screaming for him to do it..."

 _Son of bitch_ , I think to myself, personally wanting to take whoever his boss was and to slam him, hard, against a wall. "Blake, I'm sorry, I don't want to make you even more upset, but I really need specifics of what happened..."

He nods. "I know, I know," he says, calming himself down enough to stop his shuddering sobs before pulling his hands down. "My boss..."

"Yeah?" I ask, hoping my tone is one of encouragement.

"Marlowe Fairbanks, owner and founder of Fruity Saloon," Blake said, picking up his water bottle again and sipping it slowly. "It was a bit before midnight and I went outside after my last dance. Marlowe was out there having a smoke—he usually does that after a long night."

"Is the club twenty-four hours?" I ask.

Blake shakes his head. "No. We open at seven and close at three in the morning, but the performers are encouraged to arrive between four and five p.m. for mic and soundchecks and stuff like that."

I nod. "Okay. So, you just wrap up your final dance, you grab your things, go outside, and see Marlowe smoking. Then what happens? Did he give you the check before or after the assault?"

"Before," Blake replies, running his hands over his legs, the silk material of his dress attempting to cling to his ragged fishnets. "He said that he was so impressed with my weekly work output—I took on a couple of extra shifts to pay the bills—so Marlowe said that I deserved a raise. He said I would be making another thousand a month, which will certainly help..."

"And then what happened?" I ask, by this time gripping my notebook and writing down all the details.

"He's a tall guy—Marlowe—over six feet," Blake continues. "And strong—he works out a good six times a week. I was no match for him," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm strong, but not that strong... He said that he liked this wig," he tells me quietly, more tears escaping his eyes as he picks at it, from where he placed it on the tabletop. "He told me he thought I was sexy... God, I can't believe his wife stays with him after all he's done..."

I raise my eyebrows. "Marlowe's married?" I ask.

Blake sighs. "Yeah. He's been with his wife, Poppy, since they graduated high school—brags about her all the time. She's an accountant and marketing executive for her own company, Fairbanks Financial; she does all the marketing mock-ups and accounting for the Fruity Saloon..."

"And she has no idea that her husband has been living a double life?" I ask, and continue scrawling down information, knowing that Carisi will be Googling Poppy Fairbanks as Blake and I speak.

"Not that I'm aware of," he replies. "Poppy's a nice woman. Comes into the club a few times a month, always giving us advice on our costumes—she modeled a little for extra cash during college, so she knows what she's talking about."

"Does their marriage seem stable?" I ask.

"More than. They have a great house; the kids are in private school..."

"Kids?" I ask, hesitating again.

"Marcos and Ophelia—twelve and nine. Both well-mannered..."

"And the house? You've been to their house?"

"They have a penthouse on the Upper East Side," Blake replies. "One of those beautiful old buildings, but the inside has an antique aesthetic but modern furnishings... We have a lot of company parties there—when the kids are with the grandparents, of course—and since they own a lot of space in the building, it's not like we're ever a bother to anyone..."

I write for a moment, the silence deafening, and Blake seems content to watch me as I scratch the pen against my pad of paper. "So, back to last night... Marlowe gave you the check, which made you feel special..."

"Yeah," Blake says, quickly growing pale. "He put his hands on my shoulders and told me how valuable an asset I was to the company..."

"Must've been a good moment," I put in.

"You would think, if he hadn't reached below the belt," Blake replies, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I pushed his hand away, saying that I wasn't for sale, and tried to give him the check back. But he pushed the check into my bag, saying that everyone was for sale, and that, since I worked for him, I belonged to him..." He hesitates for a moment, a new round of tears falling. "I said that he was going against the rules, and that he wasn't allowed to do that with me... He turned me around so that my back was to him, and he reached in between my legs and found me, and that's when it...you know..."

I nod. "I know. Go on."

Blake lowered his eyes. "He turned his head so that it was in the space between my neck and my ear, and whispered that because I was hard, that it was as if my body giving the consent for me," he says quietly. "He held me against the bricks with his weight, while one hand was between my legs, and the other covered my mouth so that I couldn't scream... But I just..."

"What, Blake?"

"I went numb," he replies, choking back a sob. "All I could think... I was just chanting to myself, _I want to live, I want to live_ , the entire time, and I thought that if I let him do what he wanted, then maybe I could..."

"Make him happy, and promising the world, so that he wouldn't kill you," I say, having heard the story so many times. "I know."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Blake says.

I sigh. "Yeah, my first boyfriend got a little rough with me," I reply. "Let's just say if my second boyfriend didn't come along and break it up, then maybe I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere..."

"So he was your knight in shining armor," Blake replies.

I nod. "I guess, at the time, I thought so, too."

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "After he felt me go numb, he hiked up my dress so quickly that it tore," he says, barely above a whisper. "I tried to beg him to stop, but nothing did any good... I heard him unzip his pants, and I just knew, I knew what was coming but I didn't know how to stop him," he sobbed. "I just kept telling myself, _Nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever_ , and that's when he tore through my fishnets and...put his inside me..."

I nod. "And what happened next?"

"It was all of two minutes, but it could've been two hours," he says softly. "And when it was over, he shoved me so hard against the wall that that's how I got the shiner and the fat cheek," he said. "I just waited for the squeaking sound of the back door closing behind him, and I pulled my dress down... It had stopped raining and I remember just walking up and down all the blocks for hours... The numbness didn't go away until about an hour before I showed up here. I called my sister and asked her what to do, and she said to come and see you..."

"Blake," I say, taking a chance and reaching across the table, and gripping his hand in mine. "You did the right thing by coming to us for help. Now, the next thing we have to do is head to Mercy Hospital. My ex-husband is a doctor there and he's got some pull, so we'll be moved pretty high up the list."

"Will there be a rape kit?" Blake asks.

I nod, understanding his reluctant tone. "Yes. In order to do the best investigation possible, we'll need to do one."

He nods. "And you can stay in the room with me?"

I give him a small smile. "Yes, if you want me to be in there, I can. It's hospital policy to make sure the patient is comfortable. And, if you like, we can call your sister and have her meet us down there..."

"She has work," Blake says, getting to his feet. "Besides, she knows everything anyway and I'd prefer not to have her all up close and personal."

"Understood," I reply. "Are your parents in the picture?"

"Mom died when I was a baby, Dad threw me out when I came out," he replies, pulling his boa more fashionably around him. "Miranda took me in after I graduated high school and we've been living together ever since. She doesn't care about my sexuality, so Dad cut us both off."

I give him a sympathetic smile. "Well, don't worry," I tell him. "I'll text Owen from the car, let him know we're coming, and get us on the schedule. You'll be well taken care of, I promise."

He nods. "I hope it's an improvement over last night," he replies.

. . .

 _Alexandrine was the one who told her father about Kassandra and me, and I was initially worried about the eventual outcome, but I really shouldn't have been. I mean, after all, Owen would justifiably have been branded a hypocrite for condemning me for moving on with someone of the same sex. Kassandra was out at school when Owen came over to pick up the kids, and the kids, having mistaken the time, were out with my mother at the time. I nevertheless let Owen inside, making him a cup of coffee and idly chatting._

" _Had an interesting discussion with our daughter the other day," he said, taking the cup and thanking me._

" _Rebecca?" I ask him playfully. "I was unaware that she had graduated from babbling to actual sentences so quickly..."_

" _Very funny," Owen says, sipping his coffee. "Marcus never fails to mention your witty humor and I tell him that was one of the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place."_

 _I cock my head to one side, while it rests in my hands on the island beside him. "I mean... Was what we had love? I mean, surely, we loved each other, but was it head over heels...?"_

" _I like to think so," Owen replies. "I mean, it's certainly different than what I have with Marcus, and what you have with Kassandra."_

 _I lower my eyes to my hands, before allowing my fingers to retreat into my palms, where my nails proceed to bite the smooth skin. "Alexandrine told you about me and Kassandra," I say, and it is not a question._

" _Yeah, she did."_

 _I sigh, straightening up and proceeding to make myself busy about the kitchen. "I mean, suffice it to say me telling you should've happened before our oldest opened her big mouth—something she does_ not _get from my side of the family, by the way," I say, turning and looking at Owen, "—and telling you about it. I mean, please, it's an adult conversation..."_

" _That you obviously had with her."_

 _I sigh, dropping the sponge I'd been using to clean the counters with before turning around and facing Owen. "Hey, look, I was confronted with the sudden information that Kassandra and I were caught kissing by our daughter and I felt it would've been unfair to tell her she was seeing things or that she misinterpreted what was going on..."_

" _I'm not accusing you, Leia," Owen said, giving me a smile. "Trust me, I'm not about to be named a hypocrite here. Sure, I would have appreciated a heads-up from someone who wasn't almost eleven and thinks she knows everything about everything, but still..."_

 _I smile. "Thanks," I reply. "And you're not mad?"_

" _Mad? I'm thrilled!" Owen replies, lowering his cup of coffee and hugging me in an unexpected gesture. "I'm glad you found someone, Leia, really."_

" _And you like Kassandra?" I ask, pulling back and looking up at him. "I mean it's not like you'll be upset that she's around the kids or anything..."_

 _Owen chuckles. "Hey, if anything, I'm glad you're dating a woman and not another guy, because then I won't have to compete for fatherly love."_

" _Back at you," I reply. "The opposite, of course. I mean, I don't want to risk the notion of Alexandrine or the twins calling someone else 'Mom'."_

" _Well, it's unlikely to happen, Leia. Really."_

 _I stand on my toes and kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks for being so understanding, Owen—about anything."_

" _No problem," he replies. "And back at ya."_

. . .

The rape kit had been assembled and taken down to the lab, and Owen upgraded Blake to priority one, saying he would stay on Blake and be a link between him and SVU. I thanked him, but after I'd seen Blake in an Uber home, and Owen came running to me, fear in his eyes. I was shocked at this display of emotion and willingly went to Owen's office, where he and I had had many a tryst over the years before the end of our marriage.

"Owen, what's going on?" I ask him.

"Marlowe Fairbanks is Blake's boss," he says, showing me the chart that had had a nurse fill out for him as a complainant.

I shrug. "Yeah...? What of it? I probably shouldn't even be looking at these in the first place, anyway," I say, shutting the manila folder. "A patient's medical records are none of my business unless they've been subpoenaed in an investigation or I've been given just cause or permission from the patient to look at them."

"Stop with this ring around the Rosie," Owen says, his voice firm. "I want you to look carefully at..."

"Owen, _no_!" I say, and shut the folder again, gathering up my blazer and putting it on before going towards the door. "I can't look at that because it would be dishonest, and I can't be with my cases, Owen, I can't."

"Can you be dishonest with me, Leia?" he asks.

I feel myself stiffen automatically before turning around and looking at him. "You know that's not fair, Owen."

"Then tell me what is fair," he says. "Taking a peek at medical records of someone who appears to be a total stranger, or your ex-wife's?"

I steel myself for appearing honest. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Owen, and I don't appreciate your tone."

"I'm not some suspect you can just whip in line with your say-so, Leia," Owen says firmly. "What's going on?"

I look away. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right, because it doesn't make sense," he replies. " _You_ had a hysterectomy and yet were able to have a miscarriage in _my_ hospital. Are you fully prepared to explain yourself, Leia?"

"It's rare, but you can still get pregnant..."

"You're right, it _is_ rare!" Owen says. "Which is why I did some digging for myself and you know what I discovered?"

"What?" I ask him.

"You have what's known as a double uterus—now a single one, due to that rather unfortunate hysterectomy," he replies.

"Drop it," I say, my strength returning to my voice again. "Yes, I had a miscarriage, but we're just going to drop it, do you hear me?! Because this information is not fair to Kassandra or to Marcus! Now, tell me what you wanted to tell me so I can get the hell out of here!"

Owen hesitates for a moment before opening Blake's medical records again, this time not showing me the chart itself. "Are you aware that Blake is telling you that Marlowe Fredericks raped him?"

I nod. "Yes. Marlowe is his boss. Why does it matter?"

"Why does it matter?" Owen says, laughing sarcastically and taking one of his photographs from the shelf behind his desk. "This is a picture of Marcus's family reunion that I went to over the summer," he says, handing it over to me. "As you can see, I'm standing with Marcus."

I nod, taking the picture. "It's a lovely photo. But what's the point you're trying to make here, Owen?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Look next to Marcus."

"It's you."

"The other side," Owen says, slightly impatient. "Tell me who you see standing next to him. Your best guess."

I raise my eyebrows. "Marcus has a brother?"

Owen smiles tightly. "A twin—an identical twin brother. Next to that brother is his wife, Poppy."

"Poppy...?" I whisper, shocked, before looking up at Owen. "What are you saying here, Owen?" I whisper.

"I'm saying that Marcus's twin brother, Marlowe, had identical DNA to the man that could be my husband. I'm also saying that Marcus was supposedly out working last night, and yet the CCTV never managed to pick up any shots of him actually on the job."

I shake my head at him. "Oh, my god..." I whisper.

"Yes," Owen says, nodding. "Oh, my god."

"So our suspects have officially doubled," I say, looking down at the photograph then, and realizing there was no way to tell either brother apart.

"Yes," Owen replies, taking the picture from me and returning it to his shelf behind his desk. "And for your sake, you'd better hope it's not Marcus, because we have our kids to worry about."

I shake my head at him, shaking. "So help me, Owen, if I find out it is Marcus and he's so much as touched any of them..."

"But it won't be Marcus," Owen says firmly. "It won't be. It won't be, because you're going to figure out that it's Marlowe."

"I can't make up something if it's not true!" I cry out.

"DNA doesn't lie," Owen says simply.

"Neither do police," I say.

"Some of them do..."

I shake my head at him again, moving backwards to his office door, filled entirely with disgust. "Not the best of us," I reply, opening the door to his office and slamming it firmly and completely behind me.


	15. Hard Evidence

Chapter Fifteen: Hard Evidence

Once the medical examiner tells us that Blake was indeed raped, Carisi and I then get into his car and drive across town to the Fruity Saloon. It was an insult, I saw that now, the name of that accursed club that Blake found himself working at. The exterior seemed normal—well-worn bricks and neon lights—but the interior seriously needed a renovation of some kind or other. Old bits of gum were stuck intermittently on various parts of the flooring, and all the proprietors were drunk and in other varying states of complete disarray. As we stepped fully inside, the door squeaked closed behind us, and I nearly gasped and almost immediately made a grab onto Carisi for support.

"It's all okay," he assures me, patting my shoulder briefly as we stepped further and further into the club.

"Bartender or D.J.?" I ask him, letting him go.

"You take the bartender—you look like you can knock his teeth in if he so much as crosses the line," Carisi replies, a wry smile overtaking his lips.

"Have fun with Mr. Muzak," I say sarcastically, making my way over to the bar and sitting on one of the stools, managing to keep a good grip upon the counter so as I didn't go flying. "Hey there," I say to the bartender.

The bartender grins, looking me over without an ounce of shame. "Wow," he says breathlessly to me, before catching himself a bit and immediately readying a glass for me with an attractive smile that would make any straight girl swoon. "Let me guess—pinot noir."

I shake my head. "Wrong."

"Sorry—lemon drop martini?" he asks. "A white wine? I always try to air on the sophisticated side of things, and you definitely seem sophisticated."

I laugh a little, leaning forward and lowering my voice, forcing it into that husky tone that always seemed to work completely on the opposite sex. "Let me tell you a little something—I just so happen to be seven years sober," I say, and flash him a coy smile.

The bartender checks himself then, having the decency to look more than a little uncomfortable at his faux pas. "Fruit juice? Water?" he asks. "Iced water with lemon?" he wants to know.

"Anything sparkling? Like non-alcoholic cider?" I ask him, reaching into my pocket and showing my badge. "You don't want to mess with me."

He immediately nods, and pours me some sparkling cider. "What can I help you with today, officer?"

"Detective Beckett," I say, taking the cider and sipping it. "Leia Beckett."

"Leia? Cool... Nate Barwick," he replies. "And no, that's actually my birth name—you don't need to ask."

I chuckle at that. "Don't worry—I believe you," I reply. "I'm actually here to ask you your opinion on Marlowe Fairbanks?" I ask him.

"My boss? That's classic," he says, wetting a cloth and proceeding to wipe down the bar himself.

I take another sip of my cider, not wanting to appear rude. "So, when were you hired here, Nate?"

"It's been about six years or so," Nate replies. "The former bartender was Gregory Pitts, and he trained me himself and everything—every trick, every ingredient, every back—I know from him." Nate manages to get a rather sticky part of the bar cleaned up. "Gregory worked here at the Saloon for a good fifteen years or so, back when Marlowe's old man owned the place."

"Marlowe's dad owned the Fruity Saloon before him?" I ask. "Yeah—Martin Fairbanks, swell guy," Nate tells me. "Owned this place for a good twenty-five years before Marlowe got his business license and credentials from Columbia Business School. It was his graduation present, and they turned this whole thing into a family affair."

I take another sip of the cider. "You mean with Poppy Fairbanks doing all the marketing and accounting?" I ask him.

"Yeah, that's right," Nate replies. "I shouldn't have to ask how or why you know all that—you're a cop." He gives me a smile, leaning down ever so slightly on the bar and proceeding to size me up. "Cops know this sort of thing, huh? I mean—the whole getting information part."

I nod. "You'd be right." I turn and look at the dancer on stage. "Who's that over there, dancing right now?" I ask, nodding towards the stage.

"Gracie Glitter," Nate replies, beginning to clean again and barely looking up to where I'm indicating. "Mainly does those glitzy pop numbers from the 80's. She favors Diana Ross and Cher."

I nod, turning back and taking another sip of my drink. "Was she here when all that stuff went down the other night?"

"What stuff?" Nate asks.

I give Nate a smile. "You know—the stuff." I lean forward again; my blazer is partially unzipped and just gives Nate enough of the goods for him to potentially answer my line of questioning—hey, I needed to make a living here. "Tell me, Nate—do you like your boss?"

"Marlowe? Sure, I guess. He pays the bills—literally."

I nod. "Uh-huh... Tell me, what are the rules about say, the bouncers, the D.J., or you fraternizing with the dancers or performers?" "It's against the rules— _in_ the club," Nate replies. "Like say if we're outside of work or something and it won't affect anything in here, Marlowe doesn't give a damn about any of it."

"You specified _in_ the club," I say, giving Nate another smile. "What about in the VIP room?" I ask.

"How do you know about that?" Nate asks. "It's a loyal customer secret... We're not supposed to even talk to civilians about that..."

"Nate, do you remember who you're talking to?" I ask him.

"Detective Leia Beckett," he replies, picking up a tumbler glass and beginning to clean it methodically. "I never forget..."

I nod at him. "Good," I reply. "Now, do you know of any illegal activity being done in the VIP room?"

"We're not supposed to—" he begins.

"Nate, I need you to listen to me," I say, firmly this time. "If you didn't do anything in that back room at any time, then you've got nothing to worry about. If you just tell me what's gone on in there that was wrong, then you do have an obligation to tell me."

Nate looks around and leans towards me. "I'm going to kiss you on the cheek like we're old friends," he whispers to me, and does so, before leaning back, and presents a badge of his own before shoving it back in his pants. "So you're Special Victim's?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah—we got a report," I reply, not enjoying having my toes stepped on during an interrogation. "What's Narcotics have to do with this?"

"We heard some of the dancers are using," he replied.

"Did the name Gwennie Glimmer come up?" I ask, using Blake's stage name and hoping that he wasn't involved.

Nate shakes his head. "No, Gwennie's one of the good ones; like Candy Cane and Bella Berry—they're all involved in this sisterhood. They're one of the rare ones that actually follow the rules—unless the bouncers are dared... Or willing to pay double for a dance," Nate explains.

"Does Marlowe have an opinion about that?" I ask.

Nate shrugs, continuing to polish various glasses beneath the counter. "Whatever he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"And what he does know?" I want to know, hoping that Nate will catch my meaning behind my hushed tone. "What about what Marlowe does know? What about what Marlowe does? Does he spend a lot of time here?"

Nate raises his eyes to mine, curiosity behind them. "I think you're not telling me something deliberately," he states.

"So what if I am?" I ask, taking another sip of the cider.

"We're both detectives," Nate whispers, his voice not audible to anyone except for me, due to our closeness. "Tell me what you're looking for."

"And why would I do that?" I demand, my tone equally soft. "I could potentially jeopardize everything. You do know that, don't you?"

Nate sighs. "Hey, throw Narcotics a bone here," he literally begs. "We've been working this place for months—well, I have for years, but I've got some other guys lurking around here, too."

I blink, looking around the place and attempting to spot them. "Please tell me one of these schmucks isn't..."

"One in the same—they play their parts well," Nate confirms. "The D.J. is one, too—the one talking to your little friend. And two of the bouncers are our guys. In all, we've got four detectives and a lieutenant from Narcotics working this joint. So either you tell me what you're investigating, Detective Beckett, or you can get the hell out of here."

"With all due respect, Nate, my mother is the commander and chief of Special Victim's Unit—or didn't you pick up on that?" I ask, speaking to him as if he were a child. "Let me tell you a little something, Nate... You do not, ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, threaten a fellow officer who is trying to break a case of their own. I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. At the end of the day, we still get our men. Deal?"

"Fine," Nate says, obviously upset.

"Good," I say. "Now, tell me what happened here the other night with our little friend Gwennie," I ask him patiently.

"What do you want with Gwennie?"

"Gwennie's a friend of mine," I reply. "I worry for her safety—or, rather, Blake's safety—working in a joint like this. He says it pays the bills, but," I say, shrugging my shoulders, "I'm still skeptical."

Nate looks uncomfortable then and lowers his voice. "Okay, I'll tell you, but you can't tell anyone..."

"Tell anyone what?" I ask.

Nate looks around and sighs, shoulders deflating in defeat. "I knew the secrecy couldn't last forever, but—"

"What? Just spit it out, it'll be better for everyone," I tell him.

"Blake and I are a thing, okay?!" Nate says, obviously exasperated.

I raise my eyebrows. "No offense, but you were sizing me up the minute I came over here," I reply, "and you expect me to believe that you're...?"

"I'm not gay, or anything like that," Nate says quickly, almost as if someone's threatened him with a guy. "I don't know what it is about Blake—all I know is, I'm crazy about him. I've never done anything like this before—I always dated women from the time I was a teenager, but one night Blake made a pass at me and I said, 'Sure, why not?' and it was the single most beautiful night of my life. I can't explain it at all, but, it just...happened."

I smile at Nate in a moment of clear-cut understanding. "I know how you feel," I reply, the cliché rolling easily off my tongue.

"How could you?" Nate demands, scrubbing down the inside of the bar. "How could you possibly...?"

"I'm gay," I reply, and Nate looks me over again. "I know, I know. I didn't know myself—I had two boyfriends in high school, and I married the second one. We had three kids—I told Blake all this."

"How'd you figure it out?" Nate asks.

I shift a little on my barstool. "After I had my oldest daughter—it was an unplanned pregnancy soon after I began college—and married my first husband, things were okay for a while," I tell him quietly. "And then I got depressed; my mother and I weren't speaking because my husband's twin sister—who they had adopted and who still lived with them—had blackmailed me to keep my relationship with my ex-husband a secret."

"Wow," Nate says.

I nod. "Yeah. Wow," I reply. "So, I couldn't deal, you know? I turned to the booze and was drinking myself into oblivion as often as I could. My daughter suffered, my marriage suffered, and my husband had had enough. He told me to get help and I did—go get help, I mean."

"Well, you said you were sober..."

"And proud of it," I say with a smile. "I actually met my fiancée in rehab, and that dynamic was pretty funny..."

"Was she in there for the same issues?" Nate asks.

I shake my head. "No, actually—she was my shrink," I say with a laugh. "We later became friends and things were looking up and up after I got out of rehab. I had a better relationship with my husband and my daughter, and I even had a circle of friends who were understanding about me not drinking..."

"What happened?" Nate wants to know.

I bite my lip, swirling the last of my cider in my glass, contemplation setting in. "I was getting along so well with my husband that I got pregnant," I reply. "When I told my now-fiancée, Kassandra, about it, she pretty much blew a gasket. She told me that she was in love with me... I'd had romantic inclinations towards her in therapy, but initially I'd just thought I was attracted to the notion that she was going to help me out of this..."

"...but it turned into more?" Nate guessed.

I nodded, finishing off the last of my cider. "You bet it did," I reply. "Once I found out my ex-husband was gay, everything sort of fell into place. My ex and I got separated, I called up Kassandra, and it all happened so fast. Now we're getting married and my ex and I have joint custody." I look up and Nate and smile at him in a comforting manner. "The point is, it doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?"

"Who you love, as long as you know for yourself, and they know," I explain in what I hope is a careful manner.

Nate sighs. "Blake came to you, didn't he?"

"What makes you say that?"

Nate looks around again. "Blake told me about Marlowe raping him in the back alley," he explains. "I would've helped if I could, but my dad's been ill—he lives in Jersey. You can check—I flew into Newark Airport at six p.m. that night, and I spent the night there. When Blake called me distraught after the rape kit, my dad told me he was all right... My family doesn't know, at least, I haven't said anything but..."

"Your dad knows," I say, smiling at Nate.

He sighs. "I think so—based on how I was talking about Blake," he replies. "He seemed okay with me ditching him and going to make sure Blake was okay. His sister left town for an event or something—I don't know. I spent the night with Blake, just holding him when he cried..." Nate stares off into space, visualizing his lover in his arms, crying out in pain. "I wouldn't, of course, but is it wrong of me to want to kill him?" he whispers, the glass he is cleaning smashing into pieces in his hand beneath his grip.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Carisi says, immediately running forward at the sound. "What's going on here?"

"Sonny, we're fine," I say, placing a hand on his arm. "We're fine, really," I tell him as Nate looks at his hand. The cut is superficial, and there is no sign of glass as he wraps a towel around it. "It's all good," I assure him, as he slips back to his post of talking to the D.J.

"What is he, your father or something?" Nate demands.

I blink then, shocked. "What?" I ask.

Nate raises his eyes to mine. "Come on, I wasn't born yesterday," he says, making his hand into a fist in an effort to stop the bleeding. "You look like you get half your genes from him."

I shake my head, turning around to peek at Carisi before turning back to Nate and shaking my head. "That's impossible and off-topic," I reply. "Now, tell me more about your job so we can get to the bottom of all this."

. . .

I need to get out of my head for a while, which is good because Kassandra has a department meeting and Owen and Marcus have the kids that night. I consider going to my home in Long Island—for my parents always tell me that it is truly my home—but I instead opt to stay in Manhattan. I go to the apartment that I spent so many hours and up the elevator, before knocking on the door. I smile at the familiar face that answers, and appreciate being pulled in for the customary hug that I know so well.

"Come in, Leia, come in," Olivia says brightly, nodding into her living room as she shuts the door behind her. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"Thanks, Olivia, but I had a bite an hour ago," I reply.

Olivia smiles and follows me into the living room, sitting in her favorite chair with a smile as she looks me over. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I bite my lip, rolling my shoulders in a moment of anticipation. "Listen, I don't expect you to know or anything, but I just thought I'd ask..." As I hesitate, Olivia merely waits for me to ask my question. "...about my father."

"Lincoln? What's he done now?" Olivia jokes.

I shake my head. "No, no, my _biological_ father," I reply.

Olivia immediately looks away and stares down at her coffee table. "What makes you think Lincoln isn't?"

"Olivia," I say slowly, and she raises her eyes to mine. "I don't want to go full detective mode on you here, but come on. I'm thirty-years-old here, and I have a right to know, with or without my mother's permission."

Olivia sighs, knowing that I'm stubborn enough not to let it go. "Fine, but under no circumstances are you to tell your mother I told you the truth."

"Promise," I reply.

"Carisi donated the sperm, and your mother donated the egg that was then implanted in Henrietta Beckett, and thus began your conception," she replies. "I swore I'd never tell anyone, but..." She spreads her hands.

I freeze then in my seat, hardly understanding. "What...?"

"Dominick Carisi, Jr. is your biological father," Olivia replies simply. "Like I said, I wasn't at liberty to discuss it, but..."

"No," I say shakily, getting to my feet. "No, it's not true..."

"Leia, don't act this way, please..."

"Don't act this way?" I said sarcastically to myself as I began pacing around the room, shaking my head. "No, no, no. You don't get to tell me how to act right now, Olivia—I'm sorry, but you don't."

"Leia..."

"No..." I say, turning around and walking out of there without a word.

I don't even wait for the elevator; I open the staircase door, hoping that the drumming sound of my heartbeat in my ears will distract me from all of this. My feet slam down on each incoming step as I try not to think about the condemning words that Olivia told me.

How was I even supposed to know that it hadn't happened naturally? My mother had a child with Carisi after me, so who's to say he wasn't cheating on Amanda Rollins with my mother the whole time? And, if Olivia had access to this information, who was to know what else she was hiding...?

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

I was sitting in my office doing some paperwork when my phone rang. I picked it up immediately and placed it to my ear. "Beckett," I said.

"You're there late," Olivia observed.

I laugh into the receiver. "Someone has to pay the bills," I joked.

"Listen, Edythe, we need to talk..."

I am immediately ridged in my seat. "What do you mean?" I ask her. "Olivia, what's going on?"

"Leia just came to see me..."

"She's been working so hard, poor thing," I reply, allowing my thoughts to drift to my oldest daughter for a moment. "She wasn't a bother to you or anything, was she?" I ask.

"No, of course not," Olivia replies. "Listen, the thing is, she came and asked me if I knew about her biological father..."

I feel myself going ridged again. "Liv..."

"I know I shouldn't have," Olivia tells me, "but Leia seemed so desperate to know and she's thirty-years-old..."

"You promised me," I reply, my voice suddenly raspy. "You promised me that you would never tell..."

"I didn't tell her about all the circumstances," Olivia says quickly. "She thinks that Henrietta merely was the incubator, so to speak. She thinks that you and Carisi donated the eggs to be helpful..."

"I am in love with Lincoln," I say into the phone, ignoring the tears that are falling down my cheeks. "Whatever I did with Sonny is dead in the water. Sure we had a relapse and I got pregnant a second time with Fin, but it's all over now. I am in love Lincoln," I say again.

Olivia sighs. "I see."

"I am," I tell her, wanting her to get that through her thick head. "I love my husband, I always have, and I always will."

"Edythe?"

"What?" I ask, growing exasperated.

"Who are you trying to convince?" she asks.

I blink. "Excuse me?" I demand.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Olivia asks a second time, deliberately slowing her speech to get her point across. "Who are you really trying to convince here, Edythe? Me? Or you?" she wants to know.

Without even saying goodbye, I hang up the phone. Looking back at the phone again, I pick it up, press a button, and wait.

"Yeah, Edythe?"

"Sonny, can you come in here, please?" I ask.

"No problem."

"Thanks," I reply. I look up as he enters my office, and I find myself twisting my fingers around themselves in my lap. I have all of these nervous ticks that Sonny knows about, and this is why I do my best to hide them from him completely. "I just got a call from Olivia," I tell him, forcing my voice not to rise an octave at the notion that he is standing so close.

"Is she doing okay?" Sonny asks.

I nod. "Yeah. Fine."

"Okay," Sonny replies, unsure of why he was summoned to me in the first place. "I need to write down the D.J.'s statement from The Fruity Saloon today," he explains to me in the politest voice possible. "He wasn't much help, but he did fill in a few blanks—"

"Olivia had a visit from Leia," I burst out, unable to keep it in any longer. I look over his impossibly handsome face then, and he, to his credit, looks shocked. "It was a complete surprise..."

"Did Olivia say that something was wrong with Leia? I mean, is she okay?!" he asks, immediately leaning over my desk, fear in his voice.

"She... She told her, Sonny," I reply, fighting to get the words out, my condition to keep silent on the subject suddenly broken.

Sonny's mouth falls open. "Olivia told Leia that...?"

"That you are her biological father," I reply.

"All the details?" Sonny asks, immediately uncomfortable.

"Not _all_ the details," I reply, knowing that the discomfort is mutual at this point. "I mean, she said she didn't..."

"You mean, Leia doesn't know that she was conceived the old-fashioned way in between the time you and Lincoln broke off your engagement the first time?" he asks me. "And that you concealed the pregnancy, and then passed it off to Henrietta as her child?"

I nod. "Yes—Olivia didn't tell Leia that part."

Sonny shakes his head. "Wow..."

"Is that all you can say?" I demand, getting to my feet and forcing myself to stand head to head with him. "We've deceived everyone here, Sonny—everyone we've ever possibly known has been deceived."

"Everyone?" Sonny asks, looking me over.

I deliberately look away from him. "What are you talking about?"

Sonny reaches out then, guiding his hand to mine. "You know this isn't just some light switch, right?" he asks me. "Not just some high school, in the broom closet, romance? Not one that merely blows out with the sands of time?"

"I know that," I reply, looking up at him through my tears. "Don't you think I know that by now?"

"Do you?" Sonny asks.

"Yes," I reply. "God help me..." I whisper.

"Even God can't help us," Sonny replies, yanking me into his arms with full force and kissing me.

. . .

LEIA'S POV

I find myself driving aimlessly along the road, hardly knowing which direction I'm going, or even want to go at this point. Rain starts to splatter against my windshield and I do my best to see around the various droplets. I've turned my phone off, for inevitably words of comfort or concern will issue through it, and I really don't want or need to hear that right now. It would be a constant reminder that the foundation my life had been built on was a total and complete lie, and I seriously didn't need to be reminded of that.

I couldn't go to Long Island—my mother would inevitably be there with Lincoln glued to her hip, ready and waiting with an explanation. Lincoln wasn't even my biological father. Lincoln, the man who had raised me full-time since I was five, the man who I'd called "Daddy", the man whose name I had and was born with. I thought I'd belonged to him and to my mother, and everything had felt right. Now what was I, really? Was I, technically speaking, Leia Gabrielle Carisi? It certainly didn't feel right...

And Carisi had known this entire time; it was a bitter pill to swallow. Once my mother had come clean about Fin's paternity, Carisi always made time for him and, once the time came, they even told him the truth. No such luck for me, painting me as the permanent black sheep in the family portrait. It instantly led me to believe that Carisi was ashamed of me and didn't want me, which was the bitterest pill of all to attempt to swallow. How could a father not want anything to do with his own daughter? Of course, he'd had everything to do with me, as my mother's co-worker, but that was hardly the same...

I pull off the highway then, finding myself inexplicably in Long Island, and recall that my father was away for the week on a case in Chicago, where he had some excellent pull after years in the field. I pulled down the various streets then, hardly finding them rain-slicked at all, and finally found myself outside the gate of the family home. I keyed in the code, driving inside the gates and hearing them shut behind me. I parked in the curved parking area, sitting in my car on my own as the rain continued to fall upon the roof. Leaning back against my seat, I could faintly spy the guest bedroom through the mist and the rain, remembering so many things that had happened there...

. . .

" _I love you, Leia Gabrielle Beckett, I am so in love with you, it hurts! I'm not going to trade you in for an upgraded, college model within a few weeks..."_

" _Months, then," I mutter._

 _He tightens his grip. "No, not months, or years."_

 _I manage to turn to face him. "Days?"_

 _Owen growls, leaning down and kissing me, hard, on the mouth. "No days, or weeks, or months, or years—or minutes, or seconds—or any format of time could ever, under any circumstances, change my feelings for you."_

 _I sigh, kissing him again before managing to untangle myself. "Fine," I mutter. "I need you to get back into that monkey suit so that we can get back to the party. I know the whole double birthday thing has gotten old but what can you do when your parents who are really your aunt and uncle are dead set upon making an example of the first adopted kid?"_

 _Owen makes a face. "They're one step away from being my parents, too, with that tone of voice, Leia."_

" _Point taken," I say, pulling on the tea-length dress and having him zip up the back once he's gotten his outfit on. I am just about to leave when suddenly, the telltale sign of shoes stops me._

 _The telltale sound of the main door squeaking erupts in my ears seconds later, and I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor, going soft as they hit the expensive carpet my parents had bought specifically for the front room. "Lincoln?" Sonny calls out, and my heart leaps with anticipation. "You here?"_

" _Shit!" I whisper to Owen, shutting the bedroom door quickly and making sure not to trip over my shoes. "What are we going to do?!"_

 _Next, I hear what can only be my mother step out of the bedroom and down the hall, her expensive heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way out and into the front room. "Sonny..."_

" _Why is she going to see him by herself?" Owen whispers to me._

 _I shrug. "No clue..."_

 _We hear Sonny sigh. "What is this, an ambush?" he demands. "Look, if you want to talk about the whole, 'Who's going to be the next captain of Manhattan SVU' then don't bother!" he says, annoyed, and I find I am shocked that my mother even has a shot at the gig, being third-in-command and all. "Clearly, we know who the best one is for the job here, Edythe," he tells my mother, speaking harshly, almost as if he was speaking to someone who had barely left diapers._

" _Sonny, it's not that, I promise," my mother says, almost as if she is trying to keep her cool. "It's personal."_

 _Sonny sighs. "Sorry," he says. "But I was talking about you, by the way. It would be an honor to serve under you."_

" _You won't think so in about five seconds..." My mother tells him, trailing off and waiting for him to ask her why._

 _As if on cue, he asks, "What do you mean?"_

" _Look, I know it's not a good time—well, it'll never be a good time—to tell you this, but, you and I need to have a conversation about Dallas."_

" _Dallas?" Owen whispers to me._

 _Mutely, I shrug at him._

" _What do you want to discuss?" Sonny asks. "Other than the fact that you and I decided not to discuss that night ever again..."_

 _That night?! I think to myself. What the hell?!_

" _That's the thing about one-night-stands," my mother replies. "They always come back to haunt you...especially if things don't work."_

 _Nailed it, I think to myself. But still... What the hell?!_

" _Wait... What?" Sonny demands._

" _I took the morning after pill," Mom tells him quietly. "But apparently, your boys are stronger than that."_

" _What are you saying?" Sonny asks, and I immediately feel sick to my stomach at where this conversation is going._

" _I'm saying that I was pregnant," my mom replies as my knees buckle and as Owen catches me. "I was pregnant, and I had a miscarriage a few months after that. Pre-eclampsia," she says._

" _Obviously, that was your choice, but I would've wanted to be there for you..." I hear his footsteps as he presumably crosses the room to her, to offer comfort of some kind or other. "I'm really sorry..."_

" _No, you don't get it," she assures him. "I was pregnant—with twins," she says, desperation creeping into her tone._

" _Twins?" Sonny demands, shocked. "Where is it? Tell me, Edythe—where's the other baby? Did you put it up for adoption...?"_

" _Him," she replies. "It's a boy."_

" _So, you had him?" Sonny asks. "Where is he? Is he all right?"_

" _Yes, he's fine," Mom replies. "It's Fin," she tells him softly. "Didn't you ever wonder why his middle name was 'Dominick'?"_

" _Wait a minute... Our one-night-stand in Dallas was in December..."_

" _That's right."_

" _But you told everyone... You and Lincoln announced Fin's birth in November... I mean, it's his birthday right now..." "We forged the paperwork," Mom replies without missing a beat. "Fin was born in September, nine months after what happened in Dallas. I've been feeling guilty about this for years—I've carried the weight of the shame of this lie. And ever since Amanda called me into her office and demanded to know if we were having an affair, I knew I needed to come clean." She hesitates, almost as if she is willing for him to mentally catch up with this whole anecdote. "Look, if you want to fire me, I wouldn't blame you. I am a liar and I deceived so many people. I can't live that way anymore, Sonny... I'm sorry I kept Fin away from you, and you can see him as much as you want, but I'm sure you know that he thinks of Lincoln as his father, and tearing him away from this environment would only hurt him, and I know you wouldn't want to do that, now would you?" she asks, essentially pleading for mercy._

" _No, no I get it, Edythe, I do." He sighs, and I can almost see the expression he is giving her in my mind's eye. "Maybe we'll tell him when he's older..."_

" _Yeah, we can tell him when he thinks he's seventeen, but we'll know that he's eighteen," she muses._

 _Sonny sighs. "Okay," he replies, and we hear the sound of the door opening._

. . .

I sigh, knowing that Kassandra will kill me if I'm not on hand for moral support for after her meeting, so I hastily turn my phone back on. No messages come through immediately, and I begin to think that it has something to do with this accursed rainstorm. However, when an unknown number calls my phone, I am immediately suspicious. Comes with the whole cop territory thing, and yet, just to be safe, I consider letting it go to voicemail. However, having had enough surprises just for one day, I decide to confront the caller and press the green phone icon with trepidation.

"Leia Beckett," I say into the phone.

"So, this is still your numbers?" asks the familiar voice.

It was almost as if someone or something was back from the dead and back from the land of the living. It couldn't be, could it? It was impossible, but we'd never actually seen the physical evidence to prove it...

"It's not..." I say into the phone.

"I see you parked outside," the voice replies. "Come into the house—it must be cold and wet in the car."

"I—" I say, but the invitation to confirm my suspicions is too strong as I pull my keys from the ignition and open my car door and slam it behind me. Running briefly through the rain, I reach the front porch and wipe my feet automatically on the welcome mat as the door opens behind me. Looking up to face the caller, I hang up my phone; just a few years old, it is inexplicably still who I knew them to be, yet I still cannot believe it myself.

"It's me," she tells me, her smile large, and she opens her arms.

"Grandma Maggie!" I cry out, and throw myself into her arms. "Please... This isn't some kind of sick dream is it?"

She laughs then, pulling me back and looks at me. "No, of course not. I'm really here, but I'm sure you want some answers."

I nod—finally, someone who understood. "Yes, please," I reply.

"Well, I was always alive," she tells me, shutting the door behind me. "It's just that I had to get away for a while."

"Why?" I ask.

She grins down at me. "Come and sit," she tells me, "and all will be revealed in a momentary manner."


	16. One on One

Chapter Sixteen: One on One

I watch as my grandmother just walks around my childhood kitchen—inexplicably remembering where everything is—and proceeds making us cups of tea. I keep my mouth shut as she does so; the excitement I had in seeing her wearing off almost instantly, to be replaced by rage. She'd literally abandoned my grandfather and my aunts and uncles, and for what? My grandfather was about to be a father again, in a matter of weeks, and Grandma Maggie was acting so blaze about the entire thing. I was literally sitting at the ends of my seat, the resentment building, until the tea kettle went off.

"Good," Grandma Maggie puts in with a bright smile as she picks up the kettle and pours it, a plume of steam rising upwards as our cups are filled. She fills a small holder with cream and makes a grab for a sugar bowl, and positions the small plate with cookies center stage upon the tray. She lifts it up and brings it to the table, where I'm sitting, and sets it down. "Do you still take it with milk and three spoonful's?" she asks me with a smile.

"Yes," I reply tightly.

Grandma Maggie smiles a little, almost as if she is shocked at my tone, but deciding not to waver, instead moving over my cup and saucer and nodding to the spoon placed just so upon it. "Go ahead," she tells me.

"Don't tell me what to do—I'm thirty-years-old," I snap back, for the second time that day. "You have a lot of explaining to do," I say to her.

Grandma Maggie purses her lips, looking me over. "You're shivering," she observes, nodding to my blazer. "Lose the blazer—it's not doing you any good by wearing it."

I roll my eyes, taking it off, and exposing my badge and gun, to which I catch her raising her eyebrows. "What?" I demand impatiently, removing the tea bag from my cup and making a grab for the creamer. "Do you have something to contribute here, Grandma Maggie?"

"I never expected you to..." She shakes her head. "Your mother and I always assumed you'd go to med or law school..."

"I went to law school—I passed the bar and everything," I reply impatiently. "I didn't decide to be a cop until I got out of rehab," I say, contempt riddling my tone as I grab the sugar bowl.

"You were in rehab?" Grandma Maggie demands, shocked.

I shrug. "What do you care, anyway?" I fire back, setting the sugar bowl back on the tray. "You died... Or, well, you _were_ dead..."

Grandma Maggie nods. "I was, yes."

My eyes snap to hers. "Tell me what happened..."

"No," she replies, picking up the creamer. "First tell me why you were in rehab—it sounds like a much more interesting story."

I scoff then, hating that my formally MIA grandmother was officially avoiding my interrogation session. "I'm a fucking alcoholic—is that what you want to hear?" I say, and find myself shaking my head, stirring my tea in what I assume to be a rather meticulous manner.

"How did you figure that one out?"

"After my oldest daughter was born, things went downhill," I reply. "My ex-husband was working all the time and, well..." I sigh, sick and tired of telling this story for the third time that week. "Hospitals require a lot from their doctors, I guess—I wouldn't know, I'm not an expert. Anyway, after Alexandrine was born, I guess everything just snapped. I cut Mom and D—Lincoln out of my life because they didn't approve of Owen."

"Your ex-husband?" Grandma Maggie asks. At my nod, she asks, "Why didn't they approve of him?"

I scoff again, rolling my shoulders. "That's a story..." I reply.

. . .

 _Dad's tirade on the day that he and Mom first found out about my condition still echo in my ears as my screams of agony fill the delivery room. Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia! I heard him shouting in my mind. If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you... I allow my screams to drown out my father's words of anger, five months old..._

 _I remembered it was a week after New Year's when he and Mom had come for a visit. I could tell by our conversations over the last few weeks that they weren't altogether on board with Owen's and my relationship, nor were they pleased with Chelsea for keeping it from them. However, they knew that I was eighteen and that Owen was nearly nineteen, so there was nothing to be done, really._

 _I wasn't expecting them; I didn't have a class that afternoon, but Owen did, so I was alone in the apartment. I peeked through the spy-hole as I'd been taught to do and immediately felt myself tensing up when I realized who was behind the front door. I quickly made a grab for a sweater of mine hanging up on a peg by the door and pulled it around me before unlatching the door and smiling at them. I greeted them and invited them in, telling them to sit down while I went into the kitchen to get them something to drink._

" _Traffic okay?" I ask them casually._

" _Fine," my mother replies. "Light. Your father and I took a couple of hours off for lunch to come by and see you."_

" _I'm sure she figured that out by now, Edythe," my father said, a light chuckle behind his tone._

" _Well, it's good to see you," I say, walking into the living room with a glass of iced tea for each of them. "I'd come by more often, but the commute is exhausting and what with all the schoolwork I have to do..." I shake my head, perching in a chair next to the couch, where they sat as I handed over their drinks. "I had no idea that a double major would be so difficult..."_

 _My father nods. "Well, it'll be good to have another lawyer in the family, sweetheart," he says with a smile._

" _Henrietta would be so proud of you, Leia, really," my mother tells me._

" _She had me pretty young, didn't she?" I ask. My father nods. "Yes—she was twenty-two. Although by then she'd already built-up her dental practice. She had been in her position for well over two years, due to her graduating from high school at fourteen and college with a Master's Degree at twenty-one. Of course, she was a receptionist throughout high school and became an assistant by her second year of college. She was well-prepared and equipped to take on anything, what with her salary of eight hundred thousand a year, and change, of course..."_

" _All of course, which went to you," my mother assures me. "The account is set to open for you when you turn twenty-five, although when you're twenty-one, and if you and Owen are married, it will go to you then."_

 _I give a small smile. "Strange how certain trust fund rules are," I muse softly. "Of course, Owen and I are planning on marriage eventually."_

" _Of course," my mother says, smiling, although my father looks a bit annoyed. "I want you to know that I am here for you every step of the way."_

" _Thanks, Mom," I reply, "that means a lot..." I sigh. "Owen and I have been together for a while..."_

" _How long?" my father asks, and I see my mother's eyes glaze over then and then proceed to become preoccupied with some magazines on the coffee table._

 _I sigh. "The night I broke up with Ulysses, during junior year," I reply, finding that the guilt washed over me immediately._

" _You never said why you ended things with him," my father says. "Just a cover story, really, but you never went into detail..."_

 _I bite my lip. "He tried to rape me," I reply. "On school grounds—I left out that part of it. I know it was stupid—you don't have to tell me that. Owen saw the whole thing and told him to get lost but Ulysses wouldn't listen. He beat Owen up pretty bad and I finally managed to drag Owen out of there. I thanked him for helping me and then..." I feel my cheeks heating as I force myself to study the patterns on the used area rug beneath the coffee table—one I had made Owen promise to get rid of._

" _I see," my father says. "So... This is why he refused to be adopted?"_

 _I feel the sigh waft through me. "Yes," I reply. "I told him that we could end things and he could get adopted, but Owen was firm. He said that as long as I wanted this relationship, so did he. We both wanted it."_

" _I see..." My father is quiet for a time, before turning to my mother. "Edythe?" he asks her. "Aren't you going to say anything?"_

 _My mother looks up and, upon feeling her eyes on me, I look up at her. "I knew about it," she said softly._

 _I grip the arms of the chair I'm sitting in. "What?" I whisper._

" _I saw the two of you in the guest house," she tells me. "It was a few months before the adoption and everything... I didn't say anything because I knew that it was already too late..."_

" _Edythe!" my father admonishes._

" _I saw the way you two looked at each other," she continues, ignoring my father's outburst. "It was—is—the way that Lincoln and I look at each other. I wouldn't be so selfish to take that away from you, Leia."_

" _Edythe, are you insane?!" my father demands. "If anyone—anyone—got word of what they were doing behind closed doors, we could have lost Chelsea! She would have been taken away from us...!"_

" _Ah, yes, Chelsea," I mutter, leaning back in my seat. "She knew the whole time, you know—about me and Owen."_

" _Yes, we know, sweetheart," my mother replies._

" _Did she tell you that when she found out the only way she'd keep her trap shut is with money?!" I demand._

 _My father's eyes turn and lock to mine. "I don't believe you."_

 _I whip out my phone immediately and pull up my video voicemail system. They are time-stamped—nobody could tell me that they were faked. I manage to find one of the many I'd saved of Chelsea, for this very purpose. Did I feel bad about ratting out my sister? Not in the slightest._

" _Hey, Leia—it's Chelsea, of course you could tell by the person talking to the screen right now," she said into her phone. "Listen, it's about four-thirty on June nineteenth, two-thousand thirty-six. I saw that you weren't at the graduation rehearsal, which is where you promised to meet me to hand over the two-hundred you promised me to keep quiet about you and Owen going to Bobby's party. Well, you know where I live," she says with a laugh. "Give it to me by midnight, or Mom and Dad'll be kicking you out! Love you, sister!" she says, in a voice dripping with sarcasm before the screen goes black._

 _My father looks shocked. "You're kidding..."_

 _I shake my head, pulling up another video._

" _Hey, Leia, Chelsea here," she says. "We're at September of two-thousand thirty-six," she goes on. "Listen, I'm not here to pass judgement or anything like that, but when you ran off and threw up while we were shopping with Mom, and then just up and left, I mean—come on! You're begging for attention here," she said with a scoff behind her tone. "I know you've been throwing up for a couple of weeks now, Leia, and believe me, you're not fooling anyone. I expect a doubling in my payments to keep quiet about you and Owen, and an additional fee to keep quiet about my niece or nephew," she says with an evil smile before waving to all of us on the screen, followed by it turning black._

" _Please tell me she's lying—that this is all part of some epic, practical joke," my mother says, her voice begging me._

 _I sigh and shake my head. "Sorry," I reply. "It's true."_

 _My father immediately gets to his feet, making a grab for my sweater and tearing it off me. "Dammit Leia!" he screamed, getting a good look at me._

" _Lincoln!" my mother yelled._

" _Dad, stop!" I cry, getting to my feet and walking away from him. "I've made my decision! I am keeping this baby, and nothing you say or do is going to influence my decision!"_

" _We're leaving," he says, glowering in my direction. "Edythe, let's go," he growls at my mother, walking towards the door. "Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia!" he thundered in the direction of the front door. "If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you..."_

" _Lincoln, okay... That's enough," my mother says, crossing the room and putting a hand onto his back. "Let's go." Once he is out the door, she turns back to look at me and gives me a rather sad, pathetic expression. She mouths, I'm sorry before going out the door and leaving me there._

. . .

"I think it was a combination of the two," I say, staring into the murky color of my cup of tea, seeing the outline of my face.

"His anger?" Grandma Maggie guesses.

I nod. "Yeah. I think, one, he always suspected that I was a lesbian and I was throwing my life away to be with the first guy who knocked me up and the second guy I slept with. And two—that was the beginning of the end for him."

"How so?" "I think he knew... I think at some point he must've known that he couldn't have been my biological father. Of course, my legal mother, Henrietta, always assumed that it was her brother's sperm and a doner egg that ended up getting her pregnant in the first place. And that theory all went to hell and back today..."

Grandma Maggie sighs, bringing up the cup to her lips and sipping it. "I take it that, now, you'd like to know what happened with me."

"You think so?" I ask sarcastically.

Grandma Maggie ignores my tone of voice. "I suppose I deserve that," she replies with a slight smile. "Well, your statement earlier was correct."

"Which one?" I asked.

"That I died—I _did_ die."

Immediately, I feel ridged all over again. "But you just said I wasn't talking to a ghost or poltergeist or angel or whatever it is you undead like to be called!" I cry out, almost falling out of my seat.

My grandmother smiles patiently at me. "I'm not a zombie," she tells me patiently with a kind smile. "I'm only sixty-three-years-old here, Leia. You don't have to panic; I'm in perfect health." She sets down her cup then, her eyes staring into mine pleasantly. "You see, the thing is, I died on the operating table, so them just informing everyone that I was dead had to happen. I was taken into the morgue, and that's when I woke up. I had no memory of who I was, and when I was rushed into surgery, the doctors couldn't place me either—I looked like hell, or, that's what I would guess," she tells me. "After the operation to save my life was a success, I was given clothes and released from the hospital. I had my fingerprints scanned and they gave me money from my bank account, and then I left New York and went off into the sunset."

"They usually close accounts..." I said quietly.

"Your grandfather can get pretty consumed by his grief," Grandma Maggie tells me patiently.

"And where have you been all this time?" I ask her.

"I went to California, and worked in a diner by the ocean. Surfers were the typical customers in that joint," she replies.

"How'd you get your memory back?" I ask her.

"There was a shooting at the restaurant," she replies. "I grabbed the gun from behind the counter and executed both the perps without blinking. The gunfire was the thing that brought me back—shattering glass, screaming people, everyone begging for mercy from all sides. When I gave my name to the officers, they said they admired my work in New York. I guess they thought I was undercover or something—that, or on some weird holiday. Then they said that they heard about your grandfather's remarriage to Ophelia, and, well..."

I lower my eyes, gripping the tea cup, the warmth radiating through my fingers as I come to the tip of the iceberg. "You know about grandpa?" I ask.

Grandma Maggie nods. "Yes, and I'm happy for him, really I am. I couldn't have expected someone as amazing and wonderful as him not to eventually find someone amazing to love. Besides, I was gone for thirteen years, so to hold this against him would be terrible."

"Ophelia left him," I say quietly, watching the plumes of smoke. "She said that the baby wasn't his, but I don't believe that—she's just trying to get sympathy for the entire thing."

Grandma Maggie looks shocked. "If you're just trying to tell me all this just to make me feel better..."

I shake my head at her. "I promise I'm not," I tell her. "Ophelia's young and fickle and she's—"

"She's your age," Grandma Maggie says knowingly.

"Well, yeah..." I say, stumbling over my words as I fumble to get my phone out of my pocket. "Does that really matter now?" I demand, keying in the numbers like there's no tomorrow.

"What are you doing?" she demands as I bring the phone up to my face, clicking the FaceTime icon quicker than you or anyone else can possibly say—sober, of course—"antidisestablishmentarianism".

"You'll see," I reply, waiting for the connection to take hold. It would certainly be a complicated situation, since my grandfather and I certainly hadn't spoken since I'd walked out of my interview. "Grandpa?" I said as soon as his face was staring at mine through my phone.

"Hey, Leia," he says patiently. "Everyone's looking for you—your mom even called asking me if I'd seen you—"

"Never mind that now, Grandpa—I'm safe, I promise," I say, raising my eyes to Grandma Maggie across the table. "I'm sitting with someone that I think you may want to speak to."

"If this is an attempt at reconciliation, _don't_ ," he tells me firmly. "Ophelia and I are finished—I don't know why I tried to move on from your grandmother. There's absolutely nobody out there that compares to her..."

"It's been seven hours and fifteen days, since you took your love away," Grandma Maggie sings from across the table without a moment's hesitation. "I go out every night and sleep all day, since you took your love away..."

Grandpa Hunter immediately looks as if he has tears in his eyes. "Leia, I swear to god, if this is a trick..."

"No trick!" Grandma Maggie shouts, immediately grabbing onto my phone and latching onto it, turning it to face her. "Hunter?" she said, not even momentarily dazed at the notion that he's aged over a decade since the last time she'd seen him personally. "Oh, Hunter..."

"Maggie?" he whispered, and I could hear him choking back sobs.

"I know—I'm sorry," Grandma Maggie says quickly before Grandpa Hunter could say anything at all. "I know I have to explain everything to you, I really do, but, darling—"

"Where are you?" my grandfather interrupts.

"Leia and Lincoln's house on Long Island—I had my key with me on the day that I went MIA," she replies. "The hospital returned it to me, and I kept it around my neck, never allowing it out of my sight—"

"I'm coming there now," my grandfather declares. "No matter what, Maggie, no matter what—I love you."

My grandmother's eyes are immediately awash with tears. "I love you, too, Hunter," she replies.

. . .

MAGGIE'S POV

 _My ex decided to go back to his wife and kids instead of being with me. I guess I wasn't enough for him, in the end..."_

" _New York guy?" Diana asks._

" _No," I lie, shaking my head. "He was doing some training with us back when I lived in Seattle. I think he said he was from Chicago."_

" _Ah," Diana says. "Sorry to hear that."_

 _I shrug, sipping my coffee tentatively. "Hey, it is what it is. What are you going to do about it?"_

" _Oh..." Diana says softly, looking behind me._

" _What?" I ask._

" _He's here," she replies quietly._

" _Who's here?"_

" _Hunter," she replies. "Derrick's nephew—adopted him after his dad was killed in the Persian Gulf War," she whispers to me as Hunter goes up to speak with Newton and Cagney, who I saw bears the first name of Wilbur._

" _What about his mom?" I ask softly._

" _Died in childbirth," she replies easily. "Hunter was only eight when his dad was gunned down unmerciful and then Derrick stepped in. They come from old money, the Jennings," she tells me. "Came over on the Mayflower, apparently. I don't know much about it."_

" _Oh, I see," I reply, turning away from the gorgeous specimen as Diana leads me over to her desk, where mine is placed just opposite. I smile a little as the name plate says_ _DET. HOLBROOK_ _, making me feel important as I take a seat. "Do we have any cases?" I ask her._

" _Not now," Diana replies, sitting across from me. "But that can all change in the blink of an eye."_

 _I nod. "Good to know."_

" _Diana, for shame," Hunter says rather cockily as he makes his way towards us. "I can't believe that you didn't introduce me to your partner."_

 _Diana shrugs. "Why should I?"_

" _Very funny," Hunter says, shaking his head. "Come on, I'm your cousin. The least you could do is play nice."_

 _I raise my eyebrows at Diana, who sighs._

" _Derrick is my biological father," Diana clarifies. "But I was raised by my mother because the Jennings family didn't approve of me. And technically speaking, I'm your sister, Hunter, since you were adopted by Derrick. Remember that," she says, pointing a perfectly manicured, scarlet-colored finger at him before gathering the files on her desk and walking off, presumably, to the file room._

" _Tension in paradise, I see," I remark softly, looking over the paperwork that has been put on my desk, about a serial rapist named Tony Moreno. "Looks like some paperwork from Special Victims' got mixed up in here..."_

" _Let's see," Hunter says, looking down. "Ah. Well, murder trumps rape, and we suspect Tony Moreno of murder. We've got about another week to prove it, but if we don't get anywhere, that case is thrown out the window and SVU gets him on all those rapes."_

" _I see." I raise my eyes to peer at Hunter; he has a strong jaw line, fair skin, brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and those lips... I quickly bite my lower lip and look away from him. Dammit, not the boss's son and certainly not on the first day of work, Holbrook, I say angrily to myself._

" _So sorry." Hunter says, putting out a hand. "Sergeant Hunter Grayson. Nice to meet the new recruit... Margaret," he says, reading my badge._

" _Maggie," I reply, taking his hand and turning to look at him full in the face for the first time, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly. "Good to meet you." I shake his hand briefly before dropping it; his hand remains suspended in mid-air for a moment before another gentleman, who appears to be a family man in his mid-forties, walks up to us._

" _Ah, the new recruit, I see," says the man, putting out his hand. "Detective Jackson Travers, been here six years. How the heck are ya?!" he says enthusiastically with a barrel of laughter before pulling me up out of my seat and giving me a big hug. "I like to keep things friendly," he confesses, laughing a bit before letting me go. "I have to confess that my wife of over twenty years doesn't always see it that way, but oh well," he says, still laughing._

" _You'll see to it that you keep it professional with Margaret," Hunter says, giving Jackson a stern look before going over to his desk, a large one, separated from all the others, right by Captain Jennings's office._

" _Don't mind Hunter, he gets tightly wound on Monday mornings," Jackson tells me with a kind smile._

 _I return the smile. "New York born and raised, huh?"_

" _Queens, guilty," he says, throwing up his hand with a chuckle. "The wife and I own the apartment house that I grew up in now. Fixed it up real nice; now it's a full-fledged home. The kids love it..."_

" _Kids?" I ask, laughing. "How many?"_

" _Six, bless my wife," he replies, covering a hand over his heart. "The twins, Audrey Anne and Lillian Marie are now at Hudson University, full scholarships—our Audrey for law and our Lillian for medicine. Then there's Jackson Jr.; he's going to graduate high school this year. Then came Harry, and he's in his second year of high school. Then was Rosie Mae, and she's due to start high school next year—in September. And then there's Joe, we call him Joey, and he's going to start middle school in September. We're all proud of all of them, although they can get a bit loud when they want something. You got kids?"_

 _I shake my head. "No. I just ended things with someone about a year ago." I shrug at him; there is something very paternal about Jackson, and I find that I feel very safe with him. "Besides, I've got time—I'm only twenty-two."_

" _The wife and I were married at eighteen," Jackson says; he is gleeful, and not boasting about this in any way, shape or form. "As soon as high school graduation happened—BOOM! —we were saying our vows. I joined the police academy right away, and she took night school because our twins were born right away. Genetic things, twins; my mother's side had 'em, her father's side had 'em."_

 _I nod at that. "Yeah, twins run in my family, too," I reply. "My mother is actually a triplet, and my father has two brothers who are twins are well..."_

 _Hunter lets out a groan and gets to his feet; his swivel desk chair goes flying across the room and collides with a filing cabinet as he comes towards us. "Now I know that it appears as if Margaret is this shiny new toy that we all just have to have, but we've got work to do. Margaret, do a brief meet-and-greet with Newton and Cagney and then find Valentina in the file room. Go on," he says when I don't move to do his bidding. "Chop-chop."_

" _Chop-chop?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm sorry, but you have no right to speak to me that way. I'm not just going to chop vegetables—or, in this case, be rude to fellow members of the squad—on your say-so. It may be my first day on the job, and I might be only a detective, but you're a sergeant. I answer to the captain, Grayson, not to you." Hunter looks shocked that I have dared to speak out of turn. He crosses the room so as he is standing before the office of Captain Jennings and moves the blinds ever so slightly so as we can see him. There he is, sitting with his back to us in his green tweed suit which made my back itch when he put his arm around me (hey, the best of us are allergic to wool, calm down) his phone pressed up to his ear. I take it to mean it is a sensitive call, and quickly look away, not wanting to get caught for spying on the boss._

" _Since you're new, no disciplinary action will be taken against you," Hunter says to me, obviously trying to keep his temper. "But I want to be the first one to tell you that if the captain is otherwise engaged, orders automatically defer to me. I fully intend to take the lieutenants exam next year, and when I pass, I fully intend to take you in front of the disciplinary board if this unprofessional, childish attitude of yours is used again. Is that understood?"_

 _I lower my eyes. "Loud and clear, sarge," I reply._

" _Now hang on a minute, Hunter," Jackson says, stepping slightly in front of me, "I know full well that you conveniently used your status as the adopted son and biological nephew of Jennings to step in and get promoted..."_

" _That's enough, Travers," Hunter replies sharply._

" _He's right, Hunter," Gloria says, shooting me a kind smile, especially in her bright green eyes; she wears her abundant curly red hair is caught back in an abundant ponytail, which hangs elegantly to the middle of her back. "You joined the department after all of us, and you know it. By all rights, the sergeant position should've gone to Jackson..."_

" _But you swooped it right out from under him," Wilbur says, shaking his head at Hunter; Wilbur was lean and fit, standing just over six feet tall with a serious and intelligent expression on his face. Wilbur quite reminded me of the English actor Matthew MacFadyen, who was mainly known for playing Mr. Darcy opposite Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice. "You've got to give it a rest. We know you're a sergeant, Hunter, it doesn't make you a superstar."_

" _But it has made you a bully," Jackson says softly. "Picking on the poor kid like that on her first day. Yes, she should know the rules and regulations about how we run things here, but, like I said, it's her first day. Cut her some slack."_

 _Hunter rolled his eyes, gathered some files, and called to a detective who just walked in, "Wilkes! You're with me today!" and hauled the poor, naïve-looking man out of the squad room._

" _Thanks, guys," I say, turning to them all with grateful smiles as Diana comes back into the squad room with more files._

" _We look after our own," Gloria tells me with a smile._

. . .

After I hand Leia beck her phone, I found myself becoming as jittery as I was when I saw Hunter for the first time, at the age of twenty-two. The notion that I actually was going to see him again was nearly too much for me to handle, and I was pacing around the living room. I calculated the distance as nearly sixty miles, an over an hour, which could be two, considering rush hour was officially in the works on the freeway. And then there was the rain to consider, which made my head into a bunch of diner mashed potatoes and gravy...

Even though I couldn't remember my name, I knew that, since I was wearing a wedding ring, I had to be married. I didn't ever question it; since it was there, I automatically knew it to be the truth. I looked down at the thing, remembering Hunter's proposal, which had melted my heart and made me never want to lose him ever again. With Elliot in and out of the picture years and years ago now, all I could think of, _Why does Hunter even bother to put up with me? Why does he claim to care so much, when any normal guy would just cut and run at the first sign of trouble_?

"Because we're cops," he'd always told me simply. "We're cops, and cops don't run away from their problems—they run right into the fray."

I look outside and through the rain, the headlights sending a wave of comfort through me that I hadn't felt in such a long time. I ran to the front door, throwing it open and the scent of the rain filled my nose and filled me with happiness. I knew it was Hunter's car as I dashed out into the extreme weather and right towards it, as the door came open and there was Hunter, as dashing as I'd remembered him from our first encounter. His jawline was still strong and pronounced, his hair was flecked perfectly with silver, and those lips... Those beautiful lips that had sealed the deal were still intact, in all their glory...

"Hunter," I whispered, knowing that I must look very silly with my hair plastered all around my forehead and down my back. I was over sixty and acting like a teenager, almost as if I was breaking curfew to run out into the rain for a secret, clandestine rendezvous with a sweetheart. "Hunter..." My name was frozen on my lips, like an old VHS tape or DVD that was fuzzy in the same location every time, thus preventing the second character from getting a word in edgewise.

Hunter reaches out then, cupping my cheek, and suddenly I'm unsure where our tears begin and the rain ends, and we're just staring at each other, growing more and more drenched by the minute. "Maggie..." He whispers back to me, his other hand snaking around my waist.

"All I could think of was getting back here," I whisper. "All I could think of was getting back to you..."

"Shh, shh," Hunter says, pulling me into his arms. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," I reply, sobbing in his arms, the rain never subsiding around us both, the drops turning into smacks on the curved driveway. "You got remarried while my mind took a literal vacation from reality. I didn't know where I was or who I was and all I had to go on was my wedding ring, the identity assigned to me, and this key, the key to this house..."

"Where were you, all this time?" he asks me.

"California, by the beach," I reply. "I was a waitress in a diner. I went by Meg Grey, because I forgot the last syllable of our surname. That's how much of a use I was—the doctors thought it was a side effect of a medication or the potential trauma of being shot and dying..."

"You actually died?" Hunter asks.

"Yes," I reply, looking up. "I was actually died. But nothing, nothing would stop me from getting back to you. I love you," I say, standing on my toes and taking his face into my hands. "I love you..."

"I love you, Maggie," Hunter replies, leaning down in the rain and kissing me, and, at once, I feel whole again.

. . .

LEIA' POV

I watch my grandparents literally getting back together before my eyes, and look down at my phone, vibrating in my hands. It says DAD across the screen, and my eyes fill momentarily with tears at the notion that we neither of us are able to know that for sure anymore. I swipe the green phone icon automatically and place the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, kiddo—doing okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Dad," I say, my voice choking back sobs as Grandma Maggie had only just done an hour and a half ago.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks me.

I reach out then, pressing my hand to the window, the coolness giving me the courage to speak. "Dad, did you know?" I ask him.

"Did I know what, sweetheart?"

"Did you know that Dominick Carisi is my biological father?" I ask him, my voice trembling, "and that Mom is actually my biological mother?"

The silence on the other end of my phone nearly causes me to break the window in front of me, but instead, I'm left there, watching Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Hunter reconcile, all the while listening to the silence around me.


	17. Cracking the Code

Chapter Seventeen: Cracking the Code

I consider going upstairs to my childhood bedroom to think, but the last thing I want is my mother and Lincoln coming upstairs, demanding to know what is going on with me. After making sure that my grandparents are all right, I leave them to get on with it and step back out into the rain, making my way to my car and letting myself in, before driving down the drive. The fact that Mom and Lincoln were angry at me for keeping my first pregnancy and relationship with Owen from them—well, my mom, mainly—was pretty damn hypocritical. My mother was sitting on the secret of a lifetime—my true identity—and she wouldn't allow herself to share it with me.

I drive through the dark out of the gate, and soon find my way back to the freeway, being non-communicative with anyone who tries to get in touch with me. Once I get back home, I let myself in and find Kassandra, my mother, and Lincoln all standing around the kitchen. My mother immediately walked towards me, hoping for reconciliation. As she approaches me, like she will pull me into her arms, I find myself feeling the anger bubble to the surface then as I deliberately move away from her, narrowing my eyes.

"Kassandra, have my mother and Lincoln informed you of why they were here?" I ask her, my tone clipped.

My fiancée immediately shakes her head. "No. They brought a bottle of wine," she says awkwardly, as if she is prepared to ignore the inappropriateness of such a common thing. "I think they wanted to stay for dinner—"

I give her a quick smile before turning to look at my mother. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be available for dinner now, or at any time in the near future," I reply coldly to her.

My mother steps towards me again, and makes an annoyed sound as I move back away from her again. "Leia, stop it," she snaps at me, clearly thinking that I can just forgive and forget. "Remember, I'm your boss."

"I don't give a damn about that," I reply, "and don't you dare threaten me in my own house—you have no right."

"Leia, please—"

"No," I say, forcing myself to stay strong. "You lied to me, you lied to Lincoln, you lied to everyone. And now, you're resorting to threats to try and attempt to salvage everything in your life? Screw you, Mother," I say, and grab her coat and walk it towards the door. Opening it, I hear the rain continuing to fall down outside, and find that I feel no remorse from exiling her from my house. "Now, if you want to be petty and attempt to fire me because of my behavior, then so be it, but I will fight it, and I will win."

Promptly, my mother grabs her coat and stamps out into the rain, Lincoln almost reluctantly at her heels. I slam the door after them, finding that I am shaking after the encounter. I nearly shout when I feel hands on me, and turn around to see that Kassandra is staring at me imploringly. I find myself coming undone then, and throw myself into her arms and sob.

"Listen," I say quietly through my sobs, "want to do something crazy?"

"What?" Kassandra asks me.

I pull back and look at her. "Do you want to get married?"

She smiles sympathetically at me. "We're engaged..."

"No, I mean, right now," I say quickly. "I know it sounds crazy but it's legal and I want you," I proclaimed.

Kassandra smiles at me. "Of course I'll marry you, Leia," she replies. "But there is the matter of the last names to discuss..."

"You name," I replied without hesitation. "After all I went through today, I want to put as much distance from my legal name as possible."

"Legal name?" Kassandra asks.

"I'll explain later," I reply.

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

The day I married Lincoln, I was sure of anything. I had blocked from my mind Sonny's extramarital affair with me, which had resulted in Leia's birth, although it was killing me inside to watch my future-sister-in-law raising my baby girl. It absolutely killed me inside to witness every decision she made that I would've done differently, and I wished I could tell Lincoln the truth. However, the notion that he hadn't left me for anyone was always at the back of my mind, and I couldn't turn of the grief...

" _You look beautiful."_

 _I raise my eyes upwards, finding my mother's face in the mirror before me. My makeup was on point, my veil hanging back, the tiara clipped in place. I run my hands along the expensive dress and turns towards her. "Thank you," I say to her and turn to the rest of the wedding party, my wedding party—Gina, Henrietta, Noelle, Livi, and Leia. "Thank you all."_

" _Anytime," Gina says._

" _Don't mention it," Henrietta replies._

" _Captain's right," Noelle puts in._

" _You look like a princess!" Livi cries out._

" _Pretty!" Leia squeals._

" _As a picture," my mother finishes. Then, almost unexpectedly, there's a tap upon the door of the room I'm in at the lovely and incomparable establishment known as Oheka Castle_ _._

" _Come in!" I call._

 _The door opens, and my father stands there, all decked out in his new suit. His face melts when he sees my mother, and blows her a kiss before stepping into the room and getting a good look at me. "You look gorgeous, honey," he tells me, stepping forward and taking my hand, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. "I couldn't be more honored to be walking you down the aisle today, sweetheart. Today, you become Mrs. Beckett. Feeling nervous?"_

" _She is now," Henrietta puts in._

" _Yeah, new low, Hunter," Gina laughs._

" _Daddy, Mommy says 'play nice'!" Livi declares._

" _Yeah!" Leia shouts._

" _I think this whole this is amusing," Noelle says._

" _Hunter, honey, maybe discussing nerves isn't the best thing right now. Why are you here, anyhow?" my mother asks._

" _We're at places. That's why I'm here."_

" _Places!" my mother shouts. "Oh, dear!"_

" _All okay," Gina says, walking up to me. "Breathe."_

" _Noted," I reply, breathing deeply._

" _Okay," my mother says. "I walk out with one of the three groomsmen. Then the ringbearer walk out, then Henrietta and Noelle with their groomsmen. Then the flower girls. And then you and your father," she says, her eyes filling with tears as she shakes her head. "I can hardly believe this day has come."_

" _Mom, please don't cry," I say, fighting back tears myself. "Sergio will never forgive me if I ruin this," I say, gesturing to my makeup._

" _You're right—don't spoil it!" she says, stepping forward and kissing my cheek. "I love you; I'll see you out there. Come on, girls," she says._

 _Gina steps forward and embraces me. "Love you," she says and walks out the door to follow my mother._

" _You'll do great," Noelle says, squeezing me briefly before taking Livi's hand and walking out of there with her._

" _Pretty as a princess, for now, and soon you'll be a queen," Henrietta says rather poignantly before hugging me and taking Leia by the hand and following the rest of my wedding party out of there._

" _Ready?" my father asks. I nod, walking out of the room with him. Going down the corridor, we arrive in the ballroom, where the reception will be held. I walk through it, my father at my side, and hesitate at the door. I reach out and move the curtain ever so slightly, seeing the guests waiting for us to arrive. Livi and Leia are about to drop their petals, and things were definitely speeding up. Suddenly, I didn't want things to go as quickly as they once had..._

" _Okay, sweetheart?"_

 _I turn and look up at my father. "Yes. Fine."_

 _He smiles, squeezing my hand. "You just say the word, and we're out that front door faster than you can say, 'Don't shoot! I'm a cop!'"_

 _I shake my head at him. "Oh, Dad. Stop. You're too funny," I reply in my typical sarcastic manner._

" _Something bothering you, sweetheart?"_

 _I sigh. "Do you think you ever get over your first love?"_

 _His shoulders slack. "You mean Baxter? Well, you fell in love with Lincoln, didn't you, sweetie?"_

 _I nod. "Of course," I reply, peering around the curtain again to catch a glimpse of him down the lawn. "I love him." I hesitate for a moment before looking up at my father again. "Did you love someone before Mom?"_

" _There was a detective working with me in Homicide before your mom became detective and entered the unit," he replies. "Her name was Gloria Newton—she left the department a few years after your mom joined. Gloria and I were pretty serious for a while in the early years. We'd broken up about a year and a half before your mom joined the unit. She left me for someone else..."_

" _Does Mom know you were with her?"_

" _I didn't tell her," he replies, "and I know Gloria didn't. Captain Jennings knew about it, but he never let on about it much—just told the two of us to keep it professional around the squad."_

 _I nod. "I see. But things were different when you met Mom?" I ask, watching as Livi and Leia finish dropping the petals._

" _Yes. Way different," my father replies as Here Comes the Bride begins on the string quartet Lincoln and I had hired. The pair of us straighten up then and he squeezes my hand one last time before we walk into full view of the wedding party for the first time. "You ready?" he asks me._

 _I smile, tears threatening to escape my eyes just as we walk down the stone steps and out onto the beautifully decorated lawn. "For anything," I reply._

 _I walked down the cobblestone path towards the justice of the peace; standing just to his right was Lincoln, dapper in his tuxedo. The bride side was to the left, and the grooms' was to the right; Gina was to stand on my other side, while Henrietta and Noelle stood together. Livi and Leia stood together, rapt, watching me walk down the aisle with my father; Jensen stood proudly beside Lincoln, Fairfield and Thompson just beside him, while all eyes were glued to me. However, I didn't catch any of their looks, as I was completely sidetracked by Lincoln, who smiled at me as I stepped closer._

 _I turned to my father for the last time as we stepped towards Lincoln, and smile up at him as he leans down, lifting my veil and kissing me on the cheek. We turn to Lincoln, and he hands my hand over to his, and the moment my hand meets his, all my anxiety leaves me. I give a final smile to my father then before walking closer to the justice of the peace, and Lincoln never takes his hand from mine as we smile at this kind man, dressed in a lovely suit for the occasion._

 _After waiting for our looks of encouragement to begin, he does. "We are gathered here today to bring together Lincoln Matthew Beckett and Edythe Isabelle Grayson in marriage," he says, smiling at each of us in turn. "Lincoln, please repeat after me," he continues. "I, Lincoln Beckett..."_

" _I, Lincoln Beckett..."_

" _Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."_

" _Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."_

" _As my wedded wife," the justice says._

" _As my wedded wife," Lincoln replies, squeezing my hands._

" _To have and to hold from this day forward..."_

" _To have and to hold from this day forward..."_

" _For better, for worse..."_

" _For better, for worse..."_

" _For richer, for poorer..."_

" _For richer, for poorer..."_

" _In sickness, and in health..."_

" _In sickness, and in health," Lincoln says, and his smile sets me completely at ease in that moment._

" _To love and to cherish..."_

" _To love and to cherish..."_

" _As long as we both shall live," the justice finishes._

" _As long as we both shall live," Lincoln replies._

" _Now, Edythe, please repeat after me," the justice says. "I, Edythe Grayson..."_

" _I, Edythe Grayson..."_

" _Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."_

" _Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."_

" _To be my husband."_

" _To be my husband," I reply, basking in the warm glow I felt at being stared at by none other than the man of my dreams._

" _I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."_

" _I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."_

" _In sickness and in health..."_

" _In sickness and in health..."_

" _I will love and honor you all the days of my life."_

" _I will love and honor you all the days of my life," I reply._

" _May I have the rings, please?" the justice of the peace asks._

 _Gina and Jensen step forward and hand over the rings._

" _Your rings by their very shape are symbols of eternal unity, without beginning or end. They are the emblem of the love that exists between you and Edythe, and characterize your devotion to one another. Let them always remind you of the commitments you make here today."_

 _Lincoln takes my wedding ring and turns to me, hope and a lightness to his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Edythe, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," he says, and slips it onto my finger._

 _I take Lincoln's ring from the justice, its platinum heavy and cool in my hand, and turn to Lincoln. "Lincoln, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," I finish, slipping the ring onto his finger._

 _The justice of the peace smiles mightily at the two of us, looking like a cockerel of some kind. "Being assured that you are aware of the meaning of this ceremony, I will now ask you to repeat the marriage vows. Do you, Lincoln Beckett, take this woman, Edythe Grayson, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and cherish her through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"_

" _I do," Lincoln replies._

" _And do you, Edythe Grayson, take Lincoln Beckett to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"_

" _I do," I reply._

" _By the act of joining hands, you take to yourself the relation of husband and wife and solemnly promise to love, honor, comfort, and cherish each other so long as you both shall live. therefore, in accordance with the law of the State of New York, I do pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."_

 _Lincoln stepped forward, cupped my face in his hands for a brief moment and leaned down to kiss me. Immediately, my heart was I my throat as I stood on the tips of my toes and threw my arms around his neck. Nothing could stop us from the inevitable, I realized then, and I was more than happy then to be named as Lincoln's lawfully wedded wife._

" _Ladies and gentleman, it is my privilege to introduce to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett!" the justice of the peace said._

 _We turned to the crowd of well-wishers then—family and friends alike—and I felt the weight of the ring upon my finger, but it was a good weight._

I wanted to shout at my former self—you were entering a marriage of convenience, of course, but it was also one of lies. Did I love Lincoln? Of course I did; but there was also the matter of my love for Sonny, as well as my first love, Baxter. Both were unions that could never be—the first divided by marriage, the second divided by death. I couldn't deal with the lies, but couldn't bear to lose a third love. Even though I knew full well that Lincoln wasn't my one—no, that had died long ago—I knew that he was a good man. I needed a good man, not a man who cheated on his wife, as both of my other loves had.

To this day, regrets flowed forth from me, even as Lincoln and I drove away from Leia's house, I knew he knew, based on the silence that passed between us. He didn't have to tell me he knew; he was a creature of habit, my husband, for if he ever received bad news, he would go full-silent, sometimes for days on end. With none of the kids living at home anyone, it would be far simpler to attempt to resolve these issues quickly. As I pulled off the freeway at our Long Island exit and towards the property, I began to resent picking up Lincoln from work that day, as it meant he would have to carpool with me on Monday. Of course, it would be far easier if things were fixed between us by that time...

...but even I knew that attempting to undo years of lies that had damaging effects attached to them wouldn't be easy—not in the slightest. I rolled down my window and keyed in the code of the house, pulling through the gates in the next moment and found it unusual to see my father's car parked in the outdoor parking area. Of course Dad had the code, but still, seeing your father randomly showing up at your house was slightly jarring...

"Did you invite your dad over?" Lincoln asked, his tone clipped.

Immediately, I shake my head. "Not me," I reply. I park the car and unbuckle my seatbelt slowly, Lincoln doing the same as we grab our things and run as quickly as possible through the rain and walking up to the front door. I unlock it quickly, and step inside the foyer, looking around the place and found that I was riddled with a good amount of confusion. "You didn't invite him...?"

"No," Lincoln replies, his tone considerably lighter now, considering that my father could be within earshot. "Hunter?" he called.

"Dad?" I yelled.

There was a scuffle immediately thereafter from upstairs, and immediately, I put a hand on the hilt of my gun, drawing it from its place and lifting it up, automatically drawing Lincoln behind me in one swift movement. The scuffles soon doubled, and there we were, my husband and I, in the lobby of our house, my weapon drawn, and waiting. The sounds soon culminated in a door opening, followed by two pairs of feet upon the stairs, and then my father turned the corner, and there was someone with him.

"Dad?" I asked him. "What's going—" I let out a shout when my mother peaked around my father, and didn't miss her inside-out sweater. "Mom!" I shouted, dropping my gun—momentarily gladdened that I'd kept the safety on—and forced myself to wait for her to come downstairs with my father. As soon as she was there, I threw myself at her, sobbing and never wanting her to let me go. "Mom, Mom, Mom!" I said over and over.

She pulled back to get a look at me, and she was smiling. "I'm here," she said gently to me, "don't worry."

"I'm not worried," I replied. "Not worried..."

. . .

MAGGIE'S POV

" _Two minutes out," Samantha whispers to me, navigating through traffic with our lights on._

" _Two minutes out," I say into the radio._

" _Thank you, Officer Holbrook," the voice says._

 _We arrive in less than a minute and a half to the scene and dash out. I notice that none of the detectives for Special Victim's Unit are there yet, and I am told by Samantha and the acting officer on the scene to go and check on the child. It is a Caucasian female, who is curled slightly into a fetal position and is lying on her side on a stretcher. Biting my lip, I make my way over towards her, giving her a small smile as I approach._

" _Hi, I'm Maggie," I tell her gently. "What's your name?"_

" _Edythe," she says quietly. "With a 'Y', not an 'I'."_

" _Well, that's a very pretty name," I tell her. "How old are you?"_

" _Seven," she says._

" _Wow, you're a very big girl," I tell her with a smile. "How are you doing?" I take in her injuries; from what I'd learned about anatomy from peering at my mother's patient notes and Jay-Jay's medical textbooks, she seemed to have some minor head trauma, due to the medium-sized gash on her forehead, which was being treated by the responding EMT's._

" _Okay... My head hurts," she said quietly, reaching upwards to touch it._

" _No, Edythe, you can't touch it," I tell her gently. "You could get an infection if you touch it—you wouldn't want that, would you?"_

 _She nods, biting her lip, attempting to be brave. "Would you hold my hand, please?" she asks, tears welling in her silver eyes._

 _I nod, smiling at her. "Of course." I reached out and took her hand; I had minored in psychology, mainly with children, in college, and I knew that it was always good to comfort a child who is in distress. "Better?"_

 _She gives a tiny nod. "Yes."_

 _I give her an encouraging smile. "Good. We want you to be comfortable."_

 _She lowers her eyes. "My mommy was hurt," she says softly._

 _I raise my eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Edythe, really..."_

" _She went through the windshield," she whispers. "Glass went everywhere... I got scared, so I crouched behind the seat... Glass is dangerous..."_

 _I nod down at her. "That's right. You could get serious cuts." I hesitate for a moment, but I know that I shouldn't stop her from talking. "Was your mommy driving the car?"_

 _She shakes her head. "Jake was driving," she replies._

" _Who's Jake, then?" I ask._

" _Mommy's boyfriend," she replies, suddenly not making eye contact with me and picking the side of the canvas on the stretcher; there is a loose thread there, and she seems suddenly very interested in it. "He does bad things..."_

" _What kind of bad things?" I ask._

 _She shrugs. "I don't know..."_

" _Does he call you bad names?" I ask her._

 _She sighs, then says, "Yes."_

 _I nod. "What kind of bad names does he call you?"_

" _He calls me 'stupid'," she replies. "That's not nice, is it?"_

 _I shake my head. "No, sweetheart, that's not nice. Does Jake ever call you any other bad names?"_

 _She sighs. "He called me a 'bitch' once," she says, whispering the offending word, almost as if she'll offend me by saying it. "That was before he slammed my head down on the floor."_

 _I nearly pull away from her in shock. "What did Mommy do when he did that?" I ask her, hoping that her mom swooped in to rescue her._

" _She laughed, said it was a game," Edythe tells me._

 _I bite my lip from the nasty comment that threatened to escape my lips. "Is that all Jake ever did to you?"_

" _No." She shakes her head._

" _What else did he do?" She sighs, plaintively. "He started putting his hand down there—" She indicated the area between her legs, "—back when it was close to Halloween." October. "I tried to tell him that I'd tell Mommy, but he said that she wouldn't believe me. I got scared, so I stayed quiet."_

" _Is that all Jake did?" I manage to get out._

" _No." Edythe shakes her head. "He took out his thingy once and told me that it would taste good if I put it in here," she said, pointing to her mouth. "Then when I wouldn't do it, he forced it in me, so I bite it. Blood went everywhere, and I got scared again. Then he took off my pants and put it inside me, between my legs, and it hurt... There was more blood too, and he got madder..."_

" _Was that the only time Jake hurt you like that?" I ask her._

 _She shook her head. "No."_

" _When did he start doing that?"_

" _Before Christmas, after Thanksgiving," she replies. "I know it was December because Mommy changed the calendar in my bedroom."_

 _I nod. The sick son of a bitch had been abusing his girlfriend's daughter for almost a year and it had gone undetected. Turning around then, I see Elliot and Olivia pulling up, and Elliot has a secret smile for me that Olivia doesn't see. "I have to leave you now, Edythe," I say softly. "But some nice people are going to talk to you, okay?"_

" _No!" Edythe screams, pulling away from the doctors and throwing her arms around me as Olivia and Elliot step closer._

" _Sweetheart, what's wrong?" I ask as Olivia and Elliot come up behind me. "Are you okay?"_

" _He'll do it, like Jake," she said, nodding at Elliot._

 _Olivia, thankfully, steps in. "Well, why don't I sit with you while Maggie goes and talks to Elliot?" she asks, giving me an understanding smile._

" _Olivia's really nice," I reply, consolingly, to Edythe. "I promise."_

" _Is she your friend?" Edythe asks, regarding Olivia warily._

" _I... Well," I say, thrown._

" _Yes. We are friends," Olivia says, shooting me a smile and going over to be with Edythe. "Go on with Elliot," she says softly to me, and I slip away as Olivia asks Edythe what her favorite color is._

" _Get anything out of her besides that kind of trivial information?" Elliot asks, indicating Olivia's question._

 _I sigh. "Yeah, and it's not good..."_

" _Well, she's been abused, that's evident," Elliot replies. "Mom's boyfriend?"_

 _I nod. "Yeah, but her mother, too. Her mother knew about it, Elliot. She witnessed it for god's sake!"_

" _You're kidding," Elliot says. I shake my head. "No. She's witnessed physical abuse—that's what Edythe says. I would seriously bet money that Edythe's mother witnessed Jake raping her, but she's either too scarred or too ashamed to admit it." I turn around and regard Edythe, speaking to Olivia. "She'll get it out of her, right?"_

" _Olivia's the best," Elliot assures me, then looks me up and down. "You're a lot like her, you know that?"_

Hearing such a thing from the man who I initially believed I'd be spending the rest of my life with was both a blessing and a curse. In meeting my daughter for the first time, I saw myself: A girl who was lost and had nothing at all to latch onto whatsoever. There were so many times that, had Elliot come to me at just the right moment, that I would've gotten back with him in a heartbeat. However, once Hunter made an appropriate play for me, I couldn't say no. He didn't have any kind of previous relationship baggage, and I knew that that was just what the doctor ordered.

That was the difference between my daughter than me—I never kept any secrets from Hunter, and from the minute I married him (despite the separation and divorce proceedings) I always remained loyal to him. Edythe, although I would always love her with my whole heart, had a loyalty complex which wouldn't ever be fixed if she continued living the way she did. Her past betrayals were coming back to haunt her—I saw it from behind her eyes—and they weren't about to simply vanish into thin air. She had to confront them head-on, if she didn't want to lose Lincoln (that is, if it wasn't already too late) and be upfront with him—completely upfront.

"It's that that easy," she confessed to me, when we were finally able to break off from Lincoln and Hunter. "He'll divorce me..."

"You need to have some faith in Lincoln," I tell her gently. "Should you have told him that Leia was yours? Yes. Was the timeline wrong for you to have a baby? I mean, you weren't _with_ Lincoln at the time, but Sonny was with Amanda." I hesitate for a moment in this tough love session. "Sweetheart, just tell me one thing. Do you still have feelings for Sonny?"

She raises her eyes to mine, and they're filled with tears. "We've only ever been together four times—three times when he could get away from Amanda, and that's how Leia was conceived. And then once when we were drunk in Vegas and accidentally conceived Fin. That was it."

I nod at her. "But you've kissed?" I asked. "Haven't you?"

"You kissed Elliot while you were married to Dad!" she said defensively, crossing her arms like a child.

"We're not talking about me," I reply levelly, "we're talking about you. And besides, I was upfront with your father."

"He didn't leave you?" she asks.

"If you recall correctly, I left _him_ for a while, after I became convinced of his cheating on me," I reply. "Once we got back together and back on track after the separation, I didn't even think about any other men. And even when he was presumed dead, I refused to move on."

"He did," Edythe says grumpily.

"That was different—he wasn't gone very long. I was missing for thirteen years and presumed dead. Two totally different situations, and now that I'm alive, well, your father is going to file for divorce from Ophelia, on the grounds that I was alive the entire time."

"Can he do that?" I ask. "You were gone over seven years..."

"We have friends in high places," I tell Edythe patiently. "Now, tell me this—do you love Lincoln?"

"Yes, of course," Edythe replied.

"Then you need to reaffirm that," I tell her, "because I know, deep down, you don't want to lose him forever."

"I don't," she tells me firmly.

"Then go and talk to him—all cards on the table," I say gently, putting my hand on her shoulder. "Go and tell him everything, and then tell him that you're willing to earn back his trust."

Edythe bites her lip. "It's not going to be easy..."

"Hey, I never raised you to believe life was easy," I reply. "Now go and try and get your husband back."

Edythe nods. "I'm going to try." She hesitates for a moment, almost as if she thinks she should speak more.

"Talk to me, Edythe," I say quietly.

"Leia..." She says quietly.

I smile at her. "That's something else you need to solve," I tell her.

. . .

LEIA'S POV

That night, Kassandra and I went to a vintage shop that we knew well, each buying a wedding dress and not showing it to anyone. Cosmo, who got ordained online, was coming over with Ethan the following day, who would serve as a witness. We also called Owen, and asked him if we would drop off the kids the next day, as we had a small emergency. Owen didn't pry, and we set the wedding for four o'clock the following afternoon, to be held in our living room.

The night before, we marinated steaks, and prepared a macaroni and cheese to bake in the oven. Ethan would be baking and bringing the cake, and we had sent to the florist down the street to provide flowers and bouquets for the two of us. The day of the ceremony, we each left the house to do some last-minute errands, even going to the jewelry store at different times to select wedding rings. At the last minute, I called my grandparents and told them what we were doing, and then mentioned that it was going to be a small affair.

When two o'clock arrived, Alexandrine, Rebecca, and Henry arrived at the house, and I immediately went to their rooms and dressed them in their best—more helping toward Rebecca and Henry than anyone else. The twins, after all, were just barely walking, and Alexandrine had volunteered to watch them throughout the entire ceremony. Once we'd dressed the twins together, my grandparents arrived and took them into the sitting room together. Alexandrine, as my Maid of Honor, was to walk in just ahead of me and Kassandra, who would walk down the aisle together. I told her to make sure that she was completely ready, and my eldest scuttled to her bedroom, while I retrieved my dress from the wardrobe—hidden in the twins' nursery—and began putting it on.

"You look beautiful, darling."

Turning around, I see my mother standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" I ask her, and, thankfully, I'm no longer snapping.

"Your grandparents called," she said gently. "Honey, why didn't you tell us that you were getting married today?"

"I don't know," I reply. "Why didn't you tell me that Dominick Carisi Jr. was my father?" I demand softly.

My mother nods. "While not the same thing..."

"Both are life-altering!" I say quietly to her, striding up to her as tears come into my eyes. "How could you keep something like that from me?! I'm thirty-years-old for Christ's sake!"

My mother nods again. "You're right—you're absolutely right."

I sigh, the rage seeping out of me as quickly as it had come. "I don't want to fight with you," I tell her.

She gives me a little smile. "Then don't," she replies.

"Easier said than done," I reply. "You _lied_ to me."

"It wasn't just her."

Looking up, I see Carisi standing in the doorway behind her. "Oh, here we go..." I mutter to myself, reaching behind me for my veil and retrieving it from the edge of one of the cribs. "Look, I don't know what you're looking for here," I reply. "As far as I'm concerned, you're just a sperm doner..."

"Leia, don't speak to him like that!" my mother shouts.

"No, I'll speak to him however I like," I say, pinning the veil in place and turning around to face him. "We're not in the squad room—we're off-duty. This is my house, and I'm an adult. He may be my biological father, Mother, but Lincoln Beckett is my dad. No matter what you may want or need—I really don't give a damn here. You guys seriously need to get your heads examined, because as far as I'm concerned, other than work..." I give a shrug, picking up the ring box I'd managed to conceal on top of the dresser. "It's definitely going to take a while for me to forgive you." I walk past them, and run into Lincoln in the hallway then, and hesitate.

"I heard you," he says quietly, lifting my veil and kissing me on the cheek. "I want you to know how much it means to me, to have you call me your father."

I give him a little shrug. "Well, you are..." I look past him then, and see Kassandra hesitating on the edge of the living room. "Dad?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he asks.

"I have to go get married now," I reply, fingering the ring box in my hands. "If you have any objections, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

My father nods. "Go get married," he tells me.

I nod back at him, kissing him on the cheek and allowing him to adjust my veil again as I turn and walk towards Kassandra. I feel secure as she takes my hand and smiles at me. Leaning in, I brush her lips with mine, feeling complete.

"Hey, let's save it for after the ceremony!" Cosmo calls out impatiently.

"Sorry!" I mouth to them.

"You're going to tell me everything later?" Kassandra asks me softly as we begin walking down the aisle. "All of it?"

I turn and give my fiancée a nod and a smile. "All of it—for as long as we both shall live," I reply with a smile.


	18. I See the Light

Chapter Eighteen: I See the Light

It takes a little getting used to—being married, but also comes the task of learning my new name: Leia Stone. _Detective_ Leia Stone. My mother sees this as an act of defiance and perhaps it is, although I do believe that I should decide on my own surname eventually. Other than work, I don't see my mother or Carisi at all, and it is almost as if a giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders, although I could do without the blackness and bleakness between the three of us. They give me glances during work hours, and I feel as if I know what they're doing directly—they want _me_ to apologize to _them_. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but the bitterest of all is the rather unexpected knock on the door of the house, one afternoon when I'm off from work and Kassandra's at the hospital.

"Felicity!" I say, the momentary shock of seeing my little sister not completely unsettling as I move back to let her inside. "This is... Well, certainly a surprise. I thought you were on your concert tour in Italy."

"Cut short—the woman running it had her baby early. She had to make the necessary arrangements at home, of course," Felicity said with a smile. She looks around my house approvingly—as well she should, for other than music, she'd also gotten a degree in interior design.

"I see," I reply, guiding her into the kitchen. "Well, I just so happen to have some of that rosé in the pantry that you like—you and Kassandra have such similar wine tastes, it's hard to remember that you and I are the siblings and she's...well, my wife," I say, chuckling.

Felicity grins at me. "Normally, I'd accept a glass in a heartbeat but..." She sighs a little. "You remember Rick, right?"

I purse my lips. "Rick Yang, your boyfriend, who you started dating at eighteen, but broke up with in your junior year of college after he moved to Thailand for that business venture?" I ask her.

Felicity sighs. "Yes, that's the one."

"Of course I remember. What about him?" I ask her.

My sister lifts up her hand, a rather large diamond sparkling upon it. "Rick got back from Thailand almost a year ago, and he met me in Paris, three stops before Italy," she explains patiently. "We went out a few times, and then he followed the tour to Italy. The business venture paid off."

"What was it again?" I ask.

"Rick's an app developer," she replies patiently. "He does all the coding work. His brother, Felix, does the marketing, and they needed someone to help with the design work, so I stepped up. We're modifying social media—we successfully created SketchWrite—have you heard of it?"

 _Had I heard of it_? It was the latest app for writing, drawing, and posting your general thoughts and feelings. Alexandrine was absolutely obsessed with it, although I was thankful for the age restricted mode. "Of course I have," I reply with a grin. "Kassandra uses it to interact with her younger patients. But you're engaged?" I ask.

"We got married just before we left Italy," Felicity replies. "We actually bought a house not too far from here, and Rick's settling with Felix for our property building in Manhattan."

"But if you're not drinking the rosé, then that means—" Immediately, I feel myself smiling at my little sister. "Felicity... Are you pregnant?"

"Three months already," she replies, placing a hand on her barely swollen middle with pride in her face. "Doctor says it's twins. We're so excited."

I nod at her, instead pouring her some iced water with lemon. "Soothes the stomach," I explained, taking the same for myself. "How are you adjusting to being back home, and married life, and your upcoming motherhood?"

"Well, thank you," she replies, sipping at her water before placing it back down—on a coaster, thankfully—atop the kitchen bar. "Rick's just been throwing himself completely into work so as we have an appropriate nest egg in place by the time the babies arrive."

"Surely, I'm not your first stop on the welcome-home tour, as it were," I say, and take ahold of the straw from inside my glass of water and swirling it around, the ice clacking against the sides of the glass. "I mean... Have you seen Grandma Maggie yet?"

"We Skyped when I was in Italy—right before I left," she replies. "Suffice it to say, my jaw hit the floor when I heard how it all came about."

"She's not the only person you talked to, is she?"

Felicity brings up her glass to her lips, taking hold of the straw between them and sucking ever so slightly, before swallowing. "Stop beating around the bush, Leia," she tells me diplomatically. "If you want to know whether or not I've been in contact with Mom, all you have to do is ask."

"Fine," I say, fighting to keep the contempt from my tone at the thought of Felicity speaking to our mother at all. "Have you spoken to Mom?"

She nods. "I have."

"And I suppose she's already gone off about me not talking to her outside of work, then?" I ask her.

Felicity nods at my statement. "She has, yes."

"Did she tell you everything?"

"She said that you would tell me," Felicity says levelly.

I purse my lips, searching her face before allowing myself to talk about it. "I told you when you were on tour that I found out that Dad... That he wasn't..."

"I remember," Felicity says, knowing that that particular topic of discussion was difficult for me to discuss. "Don't worry—I definitely not about to forget something like that Leia."

I nod. "Good," I reply, "because here's the thing... I went to go see Olivia a bit ago and it turns out, she's known who my biological father is this whole time. Yeah," I say to Felicity's shocked expression.

"And it's definitely, positively, not Dad?" she affirms.

I shake my head. "Not Dad." I take another drink of the water with lemon, cursing myself for wanting a shot of something. "Turns out, my biological father is Sonny —or Carisi, as you mainly know him."

"Wait," Felicity says, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair as her eyes rove over my face to attempt to catch my expression, "this means that you and Fin are full siblings..."

I nod. "You're right."

Felicity traces the condensation on the outside of her glass, attempting to distract herself from this latest bombshell known as family drama. "So, what does this mean?" she whispers.

I square my shoulders then, attempting to put a brave face on it. "It means I hate Mom's guts," I reply. "I can't help it," I tell her shocked expression. "She lied to me—to all of us—for _years_!"

"She may have had her reasons..."

"Such as?" I want to know.

"Well, maybe she originally thought you were too young but then managed to get swamped by work or a heavy caseload or something—"

"Too young?" I scoff, feeling like someone in an evening drama who gets nominated for an Emmy for Best Actress in a Leading Role but inexplicably gets shown up by some teenager. "I'm thirty-years-old, Felicity!"

Felicity immediately slumps, never enjoying yelling or confrontation of any kind whatsoever. "Leia, please..."

"What?" I demand, frustrated.

She bites at her lip, clearly uneasy. "I don't know... It's just that it feels like that you want me to somehow know all of Mom's thoughts and feelings..."

"I don't want that, Felicity," I say, stepping away from the kitchen bar and allowing myself to pace. "I just want answers..."

Felicity remains rather stoic. "I'm not a mind-reader, Leia..."

"Nobody's asking you to be!" I cry out, exasperated, turning back to face her. "I'm just asking you to be my sister and support me!"

"Support you?!" she demands. "Against Mom?!"

"Felicity, come on!" I cry out. "We're not little kids anymore!"

"But she's still our mom!"

"What are you saying?" I ask.

Felicity gets to her feet then, making a grab for her purse and shaking her head at me. "Mom said you would be unreasonable," she says.

I blink. "Mom said what?"

"She said you'd be unreasonable, and that I shouldn't even come over to see you at all," she states, her voice flat as she walks over to the door. "You know," she says, turning back to face me, "all I wanted was a sisterly moment. I come in here and show off my ring and tell you that I'm going to be a mother, and you make it all about you!"

"Believe it or not, Felicity, sometimes it can't always be about you either!" I shout back, infuriated that she couldn't be on my side.

My little sister nods then, the rage falling out of her as quickly as it had entered. "I guess all I can say here is that I'm sorry you feel that way," she replies, turning around and opening the door before slamming it behind her.

I watch her from where I stand, walking down the outside path and down the stairs before walking to her car, parked on the street. I watch as Felicity gets into her car, before turning the key in the ignition, pulling out of the space, and down the street and out of sight. The sound of the echo of the door slamming still rings in my ears, and all I want to do is scream because nobody can possibly ever willingly see my side to things.

. . .

MAGGIE'S POV

I knew what it was like to lose someone—as did Edythe—and yet my pain would always be fresh. Ever since the roles had been reversed and Hunter had lost me, I felt as if we were stronger than ever. We'd both known the pain of losing the person we loved most—other than our kids—and it was not something we'd ever wish on anyone. It made my heart burst with happiness when Hunter began the process for a quickie divorce from Ophelia—plus giving her a few grand to tide her over until the baby arrived—and began the process of making me his wife all over again. Hunter had never disposed of his wedding ring, which warmed my heart with joy, and it made me all the happier for returning home.

But once you lose someone, you always lost a piece of them, forever...

" _What's really bothering you?" she asks, and I know that, by now, Olivia is perfectly capable of seeing right through me._

" _Hunter and I were trying to have another baby," I confess to her. "We'd talked about it and decided after this mission, we were going to give it a last hurrah kind of try. If it didn't work, we decided to adopt another child—a boy. We wanted to adopt a boy, around elementary or middle-school aged..."_

" _That's great, Maggie. You can still do that."_

" _Liv, it doesn't feel right," I reply. "Besides, if Hunter lives, he might need round-the-clock care..."_

" _Are you up for that?" she wants to know._

 _I turn and look at her. "Liv, I'm in love with him—no matter if he can walk or not, talk or not. He just needs to live and breathe on his own, that's all I could want, and unless he's in constant pain, I want him to be around me every minute of every day that he can stand me."_

 _She smiles. "That love is really deep, then, huh?"_

 _I nod. "Of course, it must be, right?"_

 _A female nurse enters the room then, and gives me a look. "Maggie Grayson?" she asks me._

 _I get to my feet, stumbling again. "Yes?"_

 _She nods at Olivia. "Detective Benson here said that you were a bit woozy. I think I should check your vitals."_

" _No, really, I'm fine..."_

 _She steps forward, putting a black hand upon my arm. "I insist." She gives me a look that's so firm that I feel compelled to listen to her. She takes me out of there and into another room, Olivia following me, and I hop up onto an exam table. "No, honey," the nurse says, producing a cup. "I'll need you to give me sample in this here cup."_

 _I flush scarlet—a pregnancy test?! Really?! I glare at Olivia, and she laughs, knowing full well that I'm madder at the situation than I am at her. I hop off the exam table and go into the en suite bathroom, quickly depositing the sample into the cup and washing my hands before getting out of there, handing it over to the nurse before Olivia and I are permitted to return to the waiting room. I draw my knees upwards towards my chest, wondering what the results could be. If I am pregnant... I cross my fingers as a child would, bartering now, for my possible baby and for Hunter to be all right..._

 _I find myself drawn to my hands, rubbing my temples for what seems like hours on end. I don't even hear the clock ticking, and I barely register the fact that it is long after midnight. Finally, the doors open then, around three in the morning, and I look up to see Dr. Behr stepping forward. Olivia and I get to our feet, and I feel dread as soon as he and I make direct eye contact. He is silent for what seems like a full minute, and it was as if you could hear a pin drop._

" _Maggie..." He sighs. "I'm so sorry. He hemorrhaged on the operating table so severely that we were unable to stop the bleeding. The bullet wasn't even all the way removed, and we had to stop that process in a futile attempt to stop the severe case of bleeding. We couldn't stop it in time; your husband suffered a massive heart attack and died on the operating table ten minutes ago. We attempted to bring him back, but he was already gone. Your husband is dead." I am barely aware of it until it happens. I am falling to my knees, my anguished cry echoing off the walls of the waiting room. I find myself screaming so hard and so fast that I cannot stop. I am blinded by the sudden rush of tears, and I find I cannot stop the pounding in my ears. Your husband is dead; your husband is dead; your husband is dead. That sentence thumped in my brain repeatedly, and I found I could not stop it. When I could see again, I saw that Dr. Behr had gone, and I felt the sensation of Olivia pulling me into her arms for what must have been the millionth time that day happened. When I was calm enough, I told her that I wanted to go home and to take a shower; she agreed to take me._

" _Do you want to see Hunter before you go?" she asked._

 _I shake my head. "No."_

Sometimes, I think back to that day, as I had done soon thereafter, when I thought I'd lost Hunter for good. I think back to the notion that I'd shot down the prospect of bidding my husband what I thought was to be a final goodbye. Back then, I thought, perhaps, if I hadn't been so hasty, then I would have seen that it was Mason who had given his life for Hunter, and I could have spent some time and some resources looking for him. However, I was as stubborn then as I was now, and both my daughter and granddaughter had inherited it.

I think now, looking back, I believed that my refusal to see him was not purely stubbornness at all. It was the notion that I loved Hunter, my beloved, my husband, my lover, so much, that a small part of me knew that I wouldn't be able to handle it, seeing him like that. I didn't want to believe that he was truly gone, and I suppose I figured that, if I didn't see him, he would eventually end up walking through the door at the end of the night.

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

 _Sonny came into my room shortly thereafter, and confessed that he and Amanda were having problems with honesty in their marriage. I apologized, and stated that Lincoln and I had found our separation beneficial, although it would not be so for every couple. As I made my way along the road towards home that night, I remembered how it had felt when Sonny had kissed me—different, not as pleasurable as when Lincoln had kissed me, sure—but the alcohol was talking, and the alcohol in me wanted him as much as he did me. After we woke up, tangled in between the sheets, we showered separately and agreed never to discuss it with anyone again—not even Amanda knew._

Even now, I could still feel his hands on me, as they had been for that second time in Dallas, Texas. I remembered our first time together, but only after years of therapy, and after I was finally able to admit that such a thing had happened to myself way back when. I hadn't wanted to admit it; partially because Sonny had been very married at that point, but also because I'd felt weak...

 _After my first failed engagement to Lincoln, all I could think about was focusing on work and getting out of uniform and into a suit. Sonny agreed to put in a good word for me, and we ended up getting dinner a few times so as he could give me a few pointers on the subject. Amanda didn't suspect a thing—after all, she'd known me since I was a child, and, originally, had nothing to suspect. Of course, initially, I'd felt nothing romantic whatsoever for Sonny._

 _It was about six, seven, or eight months after the engagement had ended, and Sonny and I were discussing strategy for a particular case—a fake one, mind you, for I was not at liberty to know confidential information—when he suddenly loosened his tie. We were at one of those upscale bars named after a classy fruit—I think it was called Blackberry Lounge—and it was getting late. It was a Friday, and we both had the weekend off, and initially it didn't matter to me, although when eleven o'clock approached, I decided that enough was enough._

" _Won't Amanda be expecting you home?" I asked, treading cautiously, and not wanting him to think I was ungrateful for the pointers._

 _Sonny shook his head. "Nah—she took the kids to Disney World for the whole weekend, so I'm as free as a bird in a tree."_

 _I nod, turning to look at my half-empty martini glass. "Ah-ha," I say, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing._

" _You okay?"_

 _I shrug a little then, my shoulders hurting from the heard week. "It's nothing—just tired," I reply, turning back to look at him. "And I really wouldn't want Amanda made at you for staying out late with me..."_

" _Hey, we're old friends of your mother's," Sonny puts in, a serious look on his face. "It's cool, don't worry."_

 _I nod. "Sure," I reply, sipping my drink before crossing my legs in a different direction—something not lost on Sonny._

" _I've enjoyed our time together..."_

" _Have you?" I ask, lowering my glass. "That's really nice."_

" _No... I mean I've_ really _enjoyed my time with you these past few weeks, Edythe, more than I should've," he says, his eyes troubled._

 _Suddenly becoming aware of his meaning, I feel my face immediately heat as I lower my eyes, surveying the attractive brown color of the bar that I am resting my arm upon. "You shouldn't say that, Sonny..."_

" _But I am," he says, reaching out and placing his hand on mine._

 _I immediately feel goosebumps upon my flesh, and my hair stands on end; I want nothing more than to give in to his touch. "No," I say, summoning all my strength to pull my hand away from his and looking him in the eye. "You're married, Sonny—_ married. _And to a friend of my mother's..._ You're _a friend of my mother's," I say, desperation filling my voice. "Do you realize what she would say if she heard about this, let alone caught us?"_

" _We're not anywhere near work..."_

" _Doesn't matter," I say, my eyes never leaving his. "You're married, Sonny. You belong to someone else..."_

" _What if I didn't want to?" he asks._

 _I shake my head at him. "Wouldn't make any difference."_

" _Would this?" he asks, closing the distance between us and kissing me._

 _Immediately, I pull away from him, his whiskey and my martini co-mingling just as our lips—and other things—had. "You shouldn't have done that," I say to him, and I find that I can't bear to look at him._

" _You're right," he says, and I curse myself as I raise my eyes to his. "I shouldn't have done that... But I wanted to..."_

" _And I wanted you to," I find myself saying, and I find that I am shaking. I couldn't believe that I was acting so salacious with a man—a married man—and a police officer, in a hotel._

" _You did?" Sonny asks, perking up. "You did want me to?"_

 _I nod at him, my eyes filling with tears. "Yes," I reply, digging into my purse and throwing some money down on the counter. "But we shouldn't have..." I say, my voice quavering as I get to my feet and run out of the bar. I don't get very far until I feel a hand on my arm and I turn around then, seeing Sonny standing there. "I don't know what to..." I whisper._

 _He looks shocked. "You mean you never...?"_

" _Had a relationship with a married man? I have," I say. "Had sex? I have. Made love? I have. But..."_

" _But what?" he asks._

" _I've never wanted something so badly, that I knew I wasn't supposed to have," I say quietly. "With Baxter—the other married man—I wanted to prove something to myself, but now..."_

" _What?" Sonny whispers, stepping closer to me. "What now?"_

 _I shut my eyes, the feeling of his hot breath on my skin totally and completely intoxicating. I let out a frustrated groan and my eyes snap open then, before I walk directly towards the front desk. Sounding like a bitch in heat, I whip out my credit card and Driver's License, and say to the concierge, "What's the nicest room you have available, please?"_

 _We are given a penthouse suite on the top floor, but I refuse to touch him again until we get upstairs. The elevator ride up is torture, and I become convinced that the room key won't work due to my sweating hands. Finally, the elevator dings and I manage to stumble outside of it, Sonny just behind me, and I manage to stick the key card into the proper door. It comes open automatically, and I step inside like a drunkard, I am shaking so much._

" _Doubly lock the door," I order Sonny as I step into the room. I throw off the black cocktail dress I'd worn—probably not the best idea in retrospect—and stand there in my matching bra and panty set as Sonny locks the door behind me. I turn and look at him, taking my long hair down from its bun, and Sonny comes up behind me, moving it gently to the side and allows his lips to brush my neck. I find I am immediately weakened by his touch..._

" _Alligata est legi, in amore omnium," he says, tracing the words. "What does that mean, I wonder?"_

"' _Bound by law, loved by all'," I reply without a moment's hesitation. I lean back into him, shutting my eyes as he continues kissing my exposed flesh. I don't protest as he unhooks my bra, nor do I smack his hands away when he sticks his fingers into the waistband of my panties. "This is so wrong," I whisper as his hands rove along my midsection, sending tremors down my spine._

" _But so right," he breathes against my skin, and I feel my eyes shut automatically in a wave of pleasure..._

"Did you hear me, Edythe?"

I turn immediately to the person standing before me, the one who will forever haunt my dreams. "What?" I ask, my face flushed like a teenager caught in the act, which wasn't altogether false. "I'm sorry, Sonny. What is it?"

"Blake Tomlinson's trial has been set," Sonny replies patiently. "It should be taken care of soon."

"The verdict?" I ask, stupidly.

"The jury selection," Sonny says, looking over my face. "What's the matter?" he wants to know. "Where are you?"

"Far and away," I reply, shaking my head. "Tell the DA that we need a good selection this time—maybe some drag queens themselves..."

"I'll ask," Sonny puts in, surveying my face one more time. "Wow..."

"What?" I ask, shuffling papers. "What is it?"

"It's crazy, but..."

"What?" I demand, my voice coming out far angrier than I'd originally intended it to be. "Sorry. What's crazy?"

Sonny shakes his head. "Doesn't matter how long it's been," he says, walking towards my office door. "You're never going to age, and I'm always going to love you," he states, before opening my door and shutting it behind him.

. . .

LEIA'S POV

" _And you're sure you don't want to tell your parents about us?" Owen asks me. He is looking down at me, and the very notion that our bodies are curled around each other in the second bedroom of the guest house is enough to distract any seventeen -year-old girl._

" _Hmmm? What?" I ask, my eyes locking to his._

 _He smiles. "Were you zoning out again?"_

 _I feel my goose bumps rising for what must've been the hundredth time that day. I lower my eyes, the flush deepening my core temperature tenfold, and found I never wanted him to stop staring at me like that. "Yes," I admit, biting my lip. "And the answer is no, Owen. No, no, no. We can't tell them today..."_

" _Leia, come on," Owen says, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Give me one good reason why we can't tell them."_

 _I sigh, looking up, and knowing exactly how to placate my boyfriend. I lean forward then and brush my lips with his, a feeling of delight flowing through me as he pulls me closer to him. "Because," I say when the two of us finally come up for air, "you know as well as I do that it isn't safe yet. Once you've aged out of the system, then we can be more careful. You're thinking of taking that scholarship, aren't you?"_

 _He nods. "Yeah—I just don't want to leave you..."_

 _I silence him with another kiss. "Don't say that," I whisper to him, taking delight in his shivering at my close proximity to him. "You can't turn down NYU. God knows I'd give anything to be accepted there..."_

 _He grips me tightly. "You will."_

 _I shake my head. "But with this scholarship, you get your pick of dorm rooms and apartments because of the settlement money after your mom's death. And you get to graduate in January instead of being stuck in high school until June. Don't worry about me, please, Owen. You have got to take this thing."_

" _I don't know..." His voice is quiet then as he sits up, pulling me with him. He then proceeds to tangle his fingers into my raven, curly hair, which falls to the curves at my waist. "I guess I just know how good I have it with you... I'd hate to see you falling for anyone else in my absence..."_

 _I catch his hand in my hair. "Don't say that," I say firmly, and his eyes lock to mine instantly. "I love you," I say quietly to him._

 _He smiles. "I love you, too." "That is not going to change," I say, getting to my feet and looking for the obligatory outfit I had to wear for my birthday party. "If anything, what's going to change is your feelings for me," I say, bending down and giving him an eyeful of some sexy lingerie I'd gotten to go under the new outfit. "Besides, it's not like college freshman can just date seniors in high school. I'll bet you're going to trade me in for an upgraded, college model within a few weeks—"_

 _Owen grabs me then, and a squeal escapes my lips. "Don't say that," he whispers, his arms tightly around my waist as I shiver with anticipation, the outfit falling from my fingers and back into a heap on the floor. "I love you, Leia Gabrielle Beckett, I am so in love with you, it hurts! I'm not going to trade you in for an upgraded, college model within a few weeks..."_

" _Months, then," I mutter._

 _He tightens his grip. "No, not months, or years."_

 _I manage to turn to face him. "Days?"_

 _Owen growls, leaning down and kissing me, hard, on the mouth. "No days, or weeks, or months, or years—or minutes, or seconds—or any format of time could ever, under any circumstances, change my feelings for you."_

 _I sigh, kissing him again before managing to untangle myself. "Fine," I mutter. "I need you to get back into that monkey suit so that we can get back to the party. I know the whole double birthday thing has gotten old but what can you do when your parents who are really your aunt and uncle are dead set upon making an example of the first adopted kid?"_

 _Owen makes a face. "They're one step away from being my parents, too, with that tone of voice, Leia."_

" _Point taken," I say, pulling on the tea-length dress and having him zip up the back once he's gotten his outfit on._

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Kassandra puts in, turning over in the darkness to stare at me.

I shrug. "So what?"

Kassandra purses her lips. "Come on, Leia," she says. "We're not going to be one of those couples who doesn't talk now that marriage vows have been said." She gets on top of me then, smiling down at me with that sexy, devilish grin on her face. "Think I could persuade you?"

I roll my eyes. "Maybe."

Kassandra leans down and kisses me. "Can we talk now?"

I reach upwards through the darkness, pulling her downwards to me, so as our hair co-mingles and our bodies become lost in each other's. "Maybe later..." I say quietly into her ear.

Kassandra sighs, frustrated, and climbs off of me, before turning her back to me on her side of the bed. "When you're ready to talk, you know where to find me," she states, annoyed.

I instantly put my hand on her shoulder, and I feel her face me in the darkness, so as we are face-to-face. "You're right," I reply, lowering my eyes and sighing. "I do need to talk—we need to talk. But I'm always the one talking. You go first," I tell her gently.

She sighs. "Well, you know that, for a wedding present, you agreed to go to fostering classes with me..."

I nod. "Of course, yeah. We're almost done with the program..."

"Well, here's the thing," she says. "I've been treating Angel—that girl we spoke with when you brought me in at SVU—and she's been living in a group home. I just..." She sighs then, torn. "I want to foster her."

"Oh," I say, shocked. "I didn't realize you had someone in mind..."

"Are you okay with it?" she asks.

I smile at her, leaning in and brushing her lips with mine. "Of course I'm okay with it," I assure her.

She nods. "Okay. Now your news."

I sigh again then, knowing that being open and honest was the core to any good relationship in the world. "It's just..."

"What?" Kassandra asks, pulling me closer. "Tell me."

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her," I say then, breaking down completely and throwing myself into Kassandra's arms.


	19. I Just Wanna Keep Calling Your Name

Chapter Nineteen: I Just Wanna Keep Calling Your Name

I arrived at Blake's trial alone two weeks later, and only agreed to sit in the same row as my grandmother and my mother, provided that Grandma Maggie sat in between us. Although I was more than positive that my grandmother believed our argument trickling over into a public setting was slightly petty, she said nothing about it. Grandma Maggie simply moved to sit in between us, while all the while before the trial began, my mother kept shooting me pleading looks. Of course, matters were not made easier, given that Carisi was sitting just behind me, making me feel ill.

On the other side of the courtroom, behind what would end up being Marlowe's table with his attorney, I spotted Owen and Marcus sitting there, and found myself shaking my head and avoiding eye contact with both of them. I knew that Owen had a loyalty to Marcus now, and I respected that, but it still was a bitter pill to swallow to witness my first love siding with a low-life rapist. A rapist who preyed upon his employees was so low and made me sick; I would've paid good money to see Marlowe be taken down a peg, but it was enough to arrest him on my own, with Carisi trying to step in to attempt to calm me down, but I wasn't having it, not after what he'd put me though with his lies...

" _You don't have to be the one to put the cuffs on him, you know."_

" _You don't actually have to talk to me," I snap back, glaring at him as I pull up outside The Fruit Saloon and get out of my car—I'd insisted upon driving that afternoon we were due to take Marlowe in. "Look, I'm still your partner, Carisi, but you and I are not friends. After what you did to my mother—"_

" _If I hadn't done so, you wouldn't be here."_

 _After the DNA analysis had come in approximately six days ago, I could legally call Dominick Carisi, Jr. my biological father. It sickened me to consider that I never was a Beckett in the first place, and yet I always considered myself one, and my children would be keeping the name themselves. As we trudged down the rain-slicked sidewalk and towards the club, I reached out a put a hand on the door before turning back to Carisi._

" _Be that as it may, I am putting in for a new partner as soon as possible. It's not professional to have my daddy escorting me everywhere," I say sarcastically as I open the door and step inside, not permitting him to have the last word._

 _I make my way inside the club, getting the nod from Nate that Marlowe is in the back and in his office. I immediately proceed to head back there, not giving way to pleasantries as I open the door, catching Marlowe midway through a telephone conversation. "Marlowe Fairbanks?" I say._

" _Yes?" he demands, putting a hand on his phone. "This is important..."_

" _So is this," I reply, holding up the handcuffs._

 _He laughs. "You must have me mistaken for someone else," he says. "What organization do you work for?"_

" _Excuse me?" I demand._

 _He picks his phone back up again. "Sorry, Michelle—going to have to call you back," he says, and cuts the call. "Listen, miss," he says, getting to his feet and walking towards me. "People like to pull pranks on me all the time, and in my line of work, I'm used to it..."_

" _I'm not a prostitute you ass hat!" I shout, annoyed, showing him my badge. "I'm Detective Leia Stone, and you're under arrest."_

 _Marlowe goes pale then. "What are you talking about?"_

" _Turn around," I say then, snapping my fingers. "Hands on your desk—that's better," I say, bending ever so slightly to cuff him. "Marlowe Fairbanks, you're under arrest for the rape of Blake Tomlinson, and for assault," I say, proceeding to haul Marlowe out of there._

" _That's crazy!" he shouts. "I'm married!"_

" _Your marital status doesn't matter here," I reply. "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you," I go on, seeing Carisi waiting by the entrance of the club, and nodding at me in approval, a dark expression on his face as he opens the door for me as I proceed to drag Marlowe out to my car._

"All rise for the honorable Judge Thompson," says the bailiff, and everyone in the courtroom rises as the door behind the pulpit opens. The DA has arrived, plus Marlowe and his attorney, and I know that Blake is somewhere hidden, waiting to be brought when he is called. The judge sweeps in through the door, her judge's robes pristine and in place, her raven hair down and wavy past her shoulders. She is quite short, but she sort of reminds me of a firecracker, and not someone that could be easily messed with.

Judge Thompson maneuvers her robes to sit inside the pulpit, taking half a moment to straighten herself out as she sets her case file before her. "Be seated," she states to the court, her voice higher than I'd originally anticipated, and I detected a Southern accent.

A second bailiff steps up then, as the DA, Marlowe, and his attorney remain standing there. "Docket ending 4517—People versus Marlowe Fairbanks. Rape in the first degree, assault in the first degree, bribery in the first degree," the bailiff finishes, making their way up towards Judge Thompson and handing over the necessary paperwork.

"We'll hear the People on bail," Judge Thompson says.

"Remand, Your Honor," DA Kirkwood says quickly. "Mr. Fairbanks has quite a few at his disposal, and we wouldn't want him leaving the country."

"Your Honor, remand is for common criminals," Attorney Harrison says, all about to step on DA Kirkwood's toes. "My client is married and is a father—he's hardly likely to flee. He also has a profitable nightclub business—"

"With all due respect, Your Honor, it was at said nightclub that these attacks in question came about, and we firmly believe that Mr. Fairbanks would, in the likelihood of his fleeing, would take his family with him, or end up leaving them behind to pick up the pieces."

"Come on, gentleman—we're not in trial-mode," Judge Thompson says, clearly amused by the pissing contest. "I believe that Marlowe Fairbanks is a risk to the outside world. The defendant is remanded without bail until trial, exactly two weeks from now," she says, slamming her gavel down. "Next case," she says, and snaps her perfectly-manicured, red fingers.

DA Kirkwood immediately turns back to me, my mother, and Carisi. "Great work, all of you," he says, and begins gathering up his things as Attorney Harrison almost immediately pounces on him.

"Think we can work out a deal? My client does not wish to endure the public and private embarrassment of a trial."

"Unless your terms are twenty-five years and him going on the registry, I don't think we have anything more to say to each other," DA Kirkwood says to Attorney Harrison with a smile. "Have a good afternoon," he states then, turning around and sweeping from the courtroom.

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

I couldn't stand it that Leia refused to talk to me; even though she claimed that she wouldn't be communicative with me for things that had nothing to do with work—the personal things, I supposed—I never thought she'd carry out on her threat. She was meeting her work quota as well as could be expected, but I detested that look of anger she always gave to Sonny, or to me, on a daily basis. I'd heard a rumor—from Sonny, admittedly—that was considering or new partner, or a reassignment. I did hope that it wasn't true; I wouldn't want her leaving the squad when we were on bad terms; plus, she was one of the better detectives we had.

Should I have told my daughter that she was my biological daughter sooner? Yes, even I wouldn't be the last to admit that. Should I have also told her who her biological father was, if it really meant that much to her, when she was old enough to understand, or eighteen, at the very least? Yes. Even I knew that. Of course I knew that; keeping information of epic proportions like that had damning effects on any relationship. However, it was so complicated as it is; it was over a decade too late to come clean about my reasons now—and besides, she'd made it abundantly clear that she didn't want to talk to me.

As I sat there in the courtroom that day, watching the sparring match between DA Kirkwood and Attorney Harrison, I found myself torn between the trial, Leia, Carisi, and the duty I had to uphold a good marriage front. I'd promised myself to Lincoln so long ago now, and the heartache of what had transpired between Carisi and I had long lodged in my psyche. I knew it sounded silly and completely senile, but I could not ever bring myself to get over it completely...

 _I knew sleeping with a married man was a bad idea; hell, when I was old enough to understand the ins-and-outs of it all, Mom had come clean about her slightly illicit relationship with the very married Elliot Stabler. Of course, he had been separated from Kathy, his wife of many years, which was surely a step in the right direction, of course. However, I knew that due to Sonny's Catholic leanings, he would never, under any circumstances, leave Amanda unless she was a proven danger to their children._

 _As I laid in the bed of the hotel room after that first night, I'd told Sonny to go and hurry back home so as not to evade suspicion. Sure, Amanda was out of town, but how the hell did I know that she wouldn't tap his phone? Family vacation or no family vacation, we all of us never stopped being cops. It was in our blood—like my mother and grandmother before me, we ate, slept, lived, and breathed the law, and valued honesty above all things. I hated myself, initially, for giving in to temptation and sleeping with Sonny, but, of course, my inhibitions had been lowered by the drinking..._

 _It sickened me that I had allowed myself to be swayed by an older, married man, and my superior in all things. The man had known my mother and grandmother for years, and had served beside, over, and under them since before I was born. And even if he hadn't been married to Amanda, there was the age difference to think about, plus the notion that other people may think I was sleeping with him just to advance my career. That wasn't why; it wasn't why I'd slept with Dominick Carisi, Jr., and that frightened me._

 _I convinced myself that I couldn't possibly have feelings for him—other than the purely physical kind. I further convinced myself that it was a one-time thing, and that we could simply pass it off as a drunken night that we neither of us would ever mention again. I got up and left the hotel an hour later, hailing a cab and feeling like a call girl as I took it across town and crashed immediately. I was not questioned about the lateness of the hour, nor my whereabouts, and slept the entire weekend off. On Monday, I further allowed myself to disregard my lack of professionalism on that Friday night by convincing myself that not only was it thoughtless, but it had never happened in the first place. I went through the rest of the week, and Sonny and I didn't talk at all, and I figured that it was for the best. However, that Friday, he said that we needed to get together to talk, and I felt myself inwardly salivating at the notion of seeing him again._

 _Giddy as a teenage girl going on her first date, I put on black trousers, a matching black blazer, a lose-fitting white blouse, black heels, and a simple golden necklace with a long, rectangular pendant in gold. My hair was long and loose about my shoulders, and I didn't think twice about the notion that Sonny had specifically requested I meet him in a restaurant attached to a hotel. When I walked in, his jaw hit the floor and he got to his feet as I approached, kissing me casually on the cheek and sitting across from me._

" _Hungry?" he asks me._

" _Starving," I reply, my voice husky with desire._

" _Great—order whatever you want, on me," he says, looking around with apprehension, almost as if he was convinced we were being watched._

 _I glanced briefly at the menu and as the waitress came by, I said, "A half glass of white wine, and a chicken Caesar salad, please," came my flawless, confident tone, for I knew Sonny's attention was all on me._

" _Same," Sonny says, not bothering for pleasantries as he hands over his menu to the waitress, never taking his eyes off me. "You look fantastic."_

 _I blush at the notion of flattery, and lower my eyes. "Thank you."_

" _Going somewhere after this?" he asks._

 _I shake my head. "Just hopping into bed," I reply, knowing full well how that statement would sound to his ears._

 _He sighs. "Edythe, we gotta talk..."_

" _About?" I ask him._

 _Sonny shakes his head. "We can't do this... Not again," he says, and I can tell that he doesn't want to say it; it's almost as if we're in some terrible soap opera and, in order to boost the ratings, the will-they-won't-they couple will, once and for all, become a won't they._

" _What?" I whisper._

 _Sonny lowers his eyes, suddenly not needing the cue cards behind him—he has likely been rehearsing this all week. "I'm sorry, Edythe..."_

 _I feel my jaw set then as I straighten in my seat. "It's because of Amanda and the kids, right?" I say quietly as our wine arrives. I take ahold of the stem, not even bothering to thank the waitress as I proceed to sip it._

" _Thank you," Sonny says awkwardly as she walks away. "Yes, it's because of them, Edythe. Of course it is."_

" _She's your wife," I say, waving the glass around. "I get it."_

" _Edythe, listen to me," he says then, reaching across the table and grabbing my arm so as it stops its pendulum-like swinging. "I want you to understand something, okay?"_

" _Explain away," I reply._

 _He sighs, lowering his eyes to my hand—I've released the wine bottle of my own accord, and our fingers are wrapped together. "Listen, if I wasn't married and a father, I'd take a chance on you in a heartbeat..."_

" _I know," I say then._

" _Edythe, please," he says quietly, "look at me." He looks tender as I raise my eyes to his. "I love you."_

 _I feel the gasp escape my lips before I can call it back. "I love you, too," I whisper to him. "I've never felt this way about anyone—I don't think I ever will again. It's always going to be you..."_

 _He smiles sadly. "It's always going to be you for me, too," he tells me._

. . .

MAGGIE'S POV

Getting things straightened out with your spouse or partner after something particularly nasty has happened can be an ordeal. As soon as Ophelia called with news that she had gone into labor, Hunter was agonizing about going to the hospital to see his new child. I explained to him that he would regret it if he didn't go, and then he persuaded me to go with him. Such a thing was so far out of my line of thinking that I said a half-hearted yes, but told him that there was no way I could drive without getting into an accident. Hunter took the wheel and we drove across town to the hospital.

I opted to wait in the waiting room, but soon found myself impatient with how long it was taking and wandered the halls. I remembered sitting in the very hall I turned into, bawling my eyes out to Olivia, because I could not believe that I'd lost the love of my life. My feeble attempt at living when I thought I'd lost Hunter left a debilitating tole on me, and all I could think of was, _If I didn't have kids, there was nothing to stop me_... Walking out in traffic, crashing my car, throwing myself from a skyscraper, or having a doctor do it himself—those were the four methods of suicide I could think of at the drop of a hat.

As I trudged down the hallway, I remembered then the first time I thought that, after losing Hunter and initially believing that I could and would never have him back, a miracle happened. This miracle being, of course, that Hunter had never cheated on me, and thus, neither had I him. I recalled the one time I'd ever become close, was when Elliot had come to see me that one day at Homicide, back when I'd been in charge of operations. Ever since then, however, Hunter had belonged to me, and I to him, especially after the make-up session...

" _So let me get this straight... You're Mason Grayson, also known as my brother-in-law, and you're Rebecca Rosewood..."_

" _Rosewood-Grayson," Rebecca giggles. "Yes. I'm your sister-in-law."_

 _I turn and look at Hunter. "I think you and I have some things to discuss," I say to him levelly._

" _Right. Our cue to leave then," Mason says, putting an arm around Rebecca, who gives me a little wave, as they sneak out of there._

" _The only thing you're guilty of, Hunter Grayson, is lack of communication, as far as I can see..."_

" _Yes," Hunter replies._

 _I nod. "Okay. It seems as if you're prepared to remedy that."_

 _He nods. "I am."_

" _Good." I cross the room then and lock his door from the inside before making my way towards him. I get my fingers around his tie then and immediately proceed to unknot it._

" _Maggie... What are you doing?"_

" _Be quiet," I reply, throwing his tie across the room and beginning to unbutton his shirt._

" _But, Maggie..."_

" _Shut up," I reply, standing on my toes to kiss him. "Do you know how scared I was?!" I demand then, my voice shaking. "Don't you know by now how much I am head over heels in love with you?!"_

 _His eyes widen then. "Maggie..."_

 _I giggle a bit, pulling up his hands to pull at my clothes. "Please. Come on. I am absolutely crazy about you... But you drive me crazy, Hunter Grayson..." "Back at you," he replies, yanking me forwards then so as our bodies are perfectly aligned, making an almost-complete person. He leans down and proceeds to nibble at my neck and earlobe. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this, Maggie? Thousands—millions, maybe. Every night, before I go to sleep. Every morning, as I wake up. Every waking moment of my life," he goes on, pulling back so as to get a good look at my face. He gropes my backside with one hand and cups my face with the other. "I love you, Maggie... You'll never know how much that statement will never falter in its authenticity..."_

 _My knees threaten to go weak then. "Are electronic devices covered by insurance here, Hunter?" I ask softly._

 _He looks confused. "Yes, of course."_

 _I nod. "Uh-huh. Any important files on your desk?"_

 _He shakes his head. "Not at the moment."_

" _Good," I reply, taking my arm and sweeping the contents of his desk onto the floor, which is exactly when his phone decides to ring._

" _Sorry about the noise, Sheila," Hunter says as I quickly proceed to undress him and myself the rest of the way. "Just talking with Maggie... Hold all my calls, will you, and make sure we're not disturbed?"_

" _Not a problem, Hunter," Sheila replies, a little giggle hidden at the back of her throat, which the two of us hear as he hangs up the phone._

 _Hunter makes a grab for me then, and I let out a squeal as he places me, naked, upon his desk. "I've wanted this for so long, Maggie... I wanted history to repeat itself..."_

 _I feel my eyes filling with tears. "I don't love him, Hunter, really. I don't love Elliot Stabler. I only love you..."_

" _Shh," he says, smiling down at me as he gently covers my lips with his index finger. "I don't give a damn about Elliot Stabler—all I give a damn about is this divorce you're so intent on..."_

 _I smile up at him, grabbing him so as he is perfectly positioned on top of me, and let out a sudden gasp then as he enters me. "What divorce?" I ask him, and we slowly begin again, just where we left off..._

I feel a hand upon my shoulder again and, upon turning around, see Hunter standing there with a smile. "Is Ophelia all right?" I ask.

"She's not contesting the divorce—or annulment, rather, because you and I were still technically married at the time, now that your death certificate has been rendered null and void," he tells me in a rush.

I blink. "So, that means...?"

"It means, as of this moment—as soon as we file annulment papers for me and for Ophelia—you are I are technically almost married again."

I return his smile. "And the babies?" I ask.

"Three sons— Jackson Grant, Franklin Sherman, and McKinley Jefferson," Hunter tells me proudly.

"Triplets?!" I squawk, shocked.

"All healthy," Hunter informs me patiently. He places his arms around me then and gives me a tender smile. "I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?" I ask, evading his eyes.

"I do," he tells me, gently tilting my chin up, "and you have absolutely nothing to worry about, Maggie."

"Hunter, really—I'm sixty-three-years-old. I can't compete with Ophelia in any way. I'm just a dowdy first wife compared to her, who shoots out three babies at a time just to show her love for you—"

Hunter grins down at me then when, in mid-sentence, he stops me from talking and kisses me full on the mouth. "I don't give a damn about age, Maggie," he tells me firmly, his hands firm and tight on every inch of my body—while still keeping it PG-13 for anyone who might see us. "I'm your husband, and I've loved you since the beginning..."

"Hunter..." I say, shaking my head.

"I'm serious," he tells me, firmly. "When you lost me, I couldn't imagine what you had gone through, until the tables were turned and I thought you were lost to me forever. And now that I have you back, I never want to take that chance again," he says, getting down on one knee and opening a box, showing off the wedding ring he'd given me so many years ago, which I'd refused to wear until all the business with Ophelia had been legally taken care of.

"Hunter!" I cry out, the tears springing to my eyes.

He grins up at me. "Margaret Isabelle Holbrook, I am absolutely crazy for, head over heels, madly in love with you. So I am asking you in the hospital where we've had so many memories—both good and bad, which is what makes a marriage work, so that we can all realize somehow that life isn't perfect—would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my beloved wife again, and Mrs. Margaret Isabelle Grayson?" he asks.

"But you said—" I begin.

"I know what I said," he replies. "I know that I said that our marriage would be legal again once Ophelia signed the papers—but that's not what I want. I want to marry you all over again, and to invite everyone and anyone we can possibly think of, and have a wild party, so the world knows that you are the only Mrs. Grayson to this Mr. Grayson that ever lived."

I smile down at him. "But Ophelia and the boys—?"

"They'll be well-provided for," he assures me. "Now, Maggie, will you marry me and be my wife again?"

"Yes, Hunter," I say, quickly, my gasps clogging up my ability to speak clearly to him in my excitement. "Yes. I'll marry you...again."

Hunter grins up at me, before slipping my wedding ring back onto my finger and getting to his feet, whereupon he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

. . .

LEIA'S POV

 _Small things_ , I think to myself. _Baby steps. You can do this._

"Come in!" my mother calls when I knock on her office door.

I open it and stand in the doorway then, almost under the impression that I'm not welcome there. "Got a minute?"

Immediately, she looks relieved at the notion that my tone is more neutral than negative, as it had been these last several days. "Of course, Leia," she replies, and gets to her feet. "Come on in."

I shut the door behind me then, crossing the office and perching in the chair on the other side of the desk, and only then does my mother lower herself into her seat. I find that I can't find the correct words—I don't want to lash out at her, nor do I want her to think that I'm even close to forgiving her. Finally, I decide that the truth is the best way to go here.

"I want to know why."

"Why what, sweetie?" my mom asks, and it infuriates me that she thinks that playing the innocent card is appropriate here.

"Why didn't you tell me—or anyone?" I ask her, locking my eyes with hers to let her know that I'm not backing down here.

"About Sonny being your father?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. About that."

My mother sighs then, rolling her shoulders and shaking her head. "I wanted to tell you, Leia," she tells me softly. "For so long I wanted to tell you—I guess it was just easier for people to think that you were adopted."

"Easier for you," I say, finding that I am unable to keep the malice from my voice as I rain down on her. "How could you keep something like this from me?!" I demand, trying and failing to keep my voice contained.

The door opens behind me then and Carisi strides in like the interloper he is before he closes the door behind him. "What are we talking about?"

Immediately, my mother shoots a look at Carisi, automatically casting herself as the victim of the situation. "She wants to know why."

"Why?"

"Why you kept it a secret that you fathered me!" I cry out, exasperated. "I want to understand why!" I say, looking from one to the other. "Why did you only come clean about Fin?!" I cry out then, hysterics beginning to set in. "Why was he so important to talk about?! Why didn't you tell Sonny about me?!"

"I knew," Carisi says, and immediately, I see my mother's downcast look, and a chill goes down my spine.

"What did you just say?" I whisper, my voice trembling.

Carisi raises his eyes to mine. "I knew."

I get to my feet then, the visuals of me being hauled into the principal's office whilst these two reigned over me was too much to bear. "I'm going to need you to repeat that," I say, softly, deliberately so.

"I knew that you were mine," Carisi says again. "I knew that you were my daughter from the beginning."

My mother makes a slight noise of discomfort at this declaration, and tears fill her eyes at the notion of her lies coming undone. "Sonny, no..." She whispers, pleading with him.

"How did you know?" I demand.

"The dates were right, and your mom took some sick leave at the end of her pregnancy—convinced a doctor to sign something that she had mono," Carisi told me softly. "And then she gave the baby up to a woman she knew—your legal mother, it would seem—and then used that as a bargaining chip to get back into Lincoln's good graces."

"Mom!" I cried out, turning to look at her.

She lowers her eyes. "What?"

"You _used_ me!" I cry out then, the betrayal filling my mind and causing me to shake all over as I considered it fully.

My mother sighs then, shuffling paperwork on her desk from left to right and back again, until I finally knock over her pencil holder in frustration, does she even allow herself to raise her eyes to mine. "If you want to look at it that way, yes, I suppose I did."

I raise my eyes to Carisi's then, almost as if he can explain her way of thinking at that time. "If you knew, didn't you offer to help her?" I demand then, resentment in my tone. "Or, since you were such a good Catholic boy, you couldn't bear to tell your wife and kids you'd cheated?!"

My mother, in anger, gets to her feet and throws her pencil container across the room, shattering it into a thousand pieces. "Don't you dare speak to Sonny that way," she dictates, her voice low and threatening.

I stand my ground then. "I have a right to free speech, Mother," I reply in a moment of pure defiance. "Since you yourself thought nothing of me, I had to ascertain that Sonny here did," I say, throwing him a look of distain. "My mistake, apparently," I say to him, turning around to leave.

"I didn't know until it was too late!" Carisi shouts from behind me as I place my hand on the doorknob. "Your mother only told me after she'd placed you up for adoption! She didn't even put my name on the birth certificate!"

"Sonny!" my mother shouts, in desperation.

"That's enough—from both of you," I say, shaking my head. "I just came to tell you that I've come to give you my two weeks' notice," I say, hardly knowing where the words are coming from.

"What?" my mother demands then, shock in her voice.

I turn around to face her then. " _Dad_ has given me a job at the firm," I say to her then, filled to the brim with glee at the thought of me defying her wishes.

"Excuse me?" she says, her face growing white as Carisi looks down at her in a moment of concern.

"I'm starting there in two weeks—if you recall, Mother, I took the bar exam some time ago."

"Those results can still be valid..."

"I know, which is why I took it again last month just for kicks," I reply. "I did very well—better, actually, than my first-time around. Dad's offered me a top-ranking position, and I think I know what field I want to do."

"Do you?" my mother asks, gripping the edge of her desk.

"Family law, with a main focus on divorce proceedings," I reply snidely, giving Carisi a look before turning back to my mother. "Speaking of which," I say, and reach into the bag I'd had at my shoulder the entire time, "before I forget, you've been served, Mother," I say, and cross the office again, tossing the paperwork onto her desk.

"What?!" she cries out, grabbing the paperwork, the emboldened words at the top reading PETITION FOR DIVORCE staring back at her. "What does this mean?!" she demands, looking back up at me.

"It means that Dad has had enough," I reply, putting my hair behind my ear, and revealing the wire I've been wearing the entire time.

"Leia!" Carisi shouts.

"I've had enough of both of you," I say firmly. "I'm tired of feeling guilty for my life choices, and the looks you give the photographs of me and Kassandra, and your behavior on our wedding day..." I say, and shake my head then at my biological father. "I could never call a man my father who makes me feel guilty about showing affection towards my wife."

"Don't blame him!" my mother shouts.

"You're right," I say, turning back to her. "I blame _you_. You're the one who made this bed of lies, and now you have to lie in it," I tell her, nodding towards the stack of paperwork on her desk. "Enjoy Splitsville, Mother, really," I say, turning my back on her.

It is then that I hear her heels running across the office towards me then, and I wonder what she can possibly be doing. As I turn around then, I see her hand anchored towards me, like she is going to hit me. My jaw flaps open, and yet I act instinctively and, in one final moment of revenge, dart out of the way at the last possible second, which allows her to punch through the window of her office door, the shattered glass going everywhere.

"Ah!" my mother shouts, her hand full of the stuff, which almost immediately co-mingles with her blood.

"Edythe!" Carisi shouts, darting across the room towards her. He glares up at me then, and I know that he blames me for everything.

"Don't say it," I reply then, contempt ridding my tone as I open the door to see the faces of the other SVU employees standing there, varying looks of concern on their faces before I turn back to Carisi.

"Say what?" Carisi demands, grabbing the decorative scarf from around my mother's neck and wrapping her bleeding hand in it.

"That I'm going to pay for this," I reply, taking the wire from behind my ear and securing it in my bag. "I'm paying enough as it is for having the two of you as my parents," I say, loud enough for the entire squad room to hear as I march out of there, taking my pre-packed box of stuff from my desk, and strutting out of there, vowing never to set foot in there again.

TO BE CONCLUDED...


	20. Until You Come Back Home

Chapter Twenty: Until You Come Back Home

"I know you think it's a good idea now that I'm your wife, but I find the whole thing just a little invasive," I say, giving Kassandra just a little side-eye from where I'm lying on our couch in our living room. "I mean, what with two of my cases going to trial, me finding out my dad isn't my dad, and Owen and Marcus running off to Tahoe to get married... There's just a lot going on right now," I say, bashing a throw pillow into an appropriate shape.

Kassandra nods, writing down my response like an adding machine. "And how do you feel about the very detailed fantasy you just laid out for me?" she wants to know, peeking up at me with those drop dead gorgeous eyes of hers which made me want to jump her bones right then and there.

"Really, I thought you said that certain things couldn't be discussed with the twins in the next room," I say. "Of course," I continue, getting to my feet and going towards her, "now that you mention it directly, Alexandrine's in school for another three hours..."

"Leia, I was referring to the fantasy you imagined about you, your mother, and Carisi, and you know it," Kassandra says, an amused look on her face. "But nice going—but maybe next time you should attempt to _un_ button your blouse before you attempt your little seduction plan."

I stick my tongue out at her and flop back down onto the couch. "Okay—if you really think this'll help with our communication, go ahead. Ask me any questions you want."

"That's better," Kassandra tells me with a smile. "What made you consider a fantasy where you teamed up with Lincoln in order for him to divorce and shame your mother?"

I lower my eyes. "I guess I wanted her to feel the same way she made me feel," I reply, already feeling as if I'd been caught with one hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh-huh," my wife replies, eyeing me then. "And what do you think her smashing her hand in her office door had to do with anything?"

I shrug. "I don't know—emotional pain wasn't enough, I guess?" I say, shrugging at her. "Come on—like you've never considered something like that happening to someone you hate."

"You don't hate your mother," Kassandra tells me, writing down my thoughts in her hasty hand. "And I know I don't have to tell you that we're talking about you right now, Leia."

"Fine, fine," I grumble. "I guess it also has to do with the fact that I want to do something like that now and again—just because of my frustration, you know? I just don't want to get hurt in that way..."

Kassandra clicks her tongue then, looking over her various pieces of paper before looking back up at me. "I suggest you write your mother a letter."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Write her a letter," Kassandra says simply, "a completely uncensored letter, letting her know how she made you feel. This way, she can't interrupt your train of thought or disregard anything to your face."

"But what if she won't discuss it?" I ask. "Or what if she tears it up?"

"Make copies," my wife tells me with a smile. "And just because she doesn't discuss it with you right away doesn't mean she won't."

I hunch my shoulders and shake my head. "I don't know..."

"Well, you have until Monday to think about it," she tells me with a smile. "That's when you see her at Blake's trial."

"Oh, yeah," I mutter to myself. "That. I just hate that it looks like Duke Ross might take a deal and get out of the public humiliation of a trial..."

"All serials aren't alike, Leia—even I don't have to tell you that some of them may not get off on hearing the sordid details of their own crimes."

I nod at her. "You're right—I know you're right..."

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

I stand in the office of the squad room that Monday afternoon, running my hands over the desk as I allow myself to contemplate everything in my life. The fact of it was, I knew then that I would never be Sonny's first choice—and besides, I wouldn't allow myself to be a consolation prize, nor a conflict of interest, due to my being his boss. As for my beloved Lincoln—despite everything, he'd loyally stuck by me; despite the betrayals, and the two children that weren't biologically linked to him, he had never made them feel like outsiders. He'd stuck by me through Fin, and now that he knew about Leia, he'd told me that, as long as I kept it professional with Sonny from then on, he wouldn't divorce me.

I got to my feet and crossed the office then, looking through the blinks at Sonny's desk—closest to my office as Lieutenant Carisi, second-in-command of SVU. He was on the phone then, and I knew it was either Amanda, or someone calling about a disturbing case. No matter what it was, I knew he would tell me shortly what it was truly about. I placed my hands on the window sill then, permitting my eyes to rove over to another desk, past Lavinia Hatfield's, and to my daughter's. Leia was typing up her final revised reports on Duke Ross.

It had hit her hard when we got the call that morning from DA Kirkwood, his annoyance creeping through the telephone, that he'd managed to secure a deal with Duke Ross's lawyer. Duke Ross would be serving twenty-five years for the initial charge of rape, with an additional six months per count. This meant that Duke would be serving around thirty-two years in prison, due to the fact that we only had him on a handful of additional charges. Pending good behavior, he would be up for parole in twenty-five; however, Kirkwood had managed to get Judge Thompson agree to additional charges if we ever found any.

It was the best we could hope for, I knew that, and yet I also knew how she was feeling, deep down inside. She was angry about this, and she was also angry at me, due to the aforementioned betrayal. I had not just betrayed Lincoln, I'd betrayed my daughter, and Sonny as well. Lincoln and Sonny had forgiven me, but not Leia, and while I understood why, I knew that the final secret had to be told, in order for her to gain at least a little closure. Turning around, I crossed back to my desk and picked up my phone, pressing the button to connect with her phone at her desk, and put the phone up to my ear.

"Yeah?" she asked, all-business.

I turned around to face her, so as to watch her facial expression. "Hey, listen, I have something we need to discuss on our own. Think you could come in here in about twenty minutes?"

"Sure, I'll be finished by then," Leia replies.

"Great," I say, forcing myself to keep the excitement from my voice, now that we were dialoguing. "See you then." I replace the phone at the exact moment she does, and turn to look at my desk. The nameplate reads CAPTAIN EDYTHE BECKETT, as it had done for years, and I knew then that I needed to honor my married name. As I thought back, back to the moment my dreams came crashing down for a second time—the first time being after I lost Baxter—I knew then, as I knew now, that changes had to be made...

 _It wasn't six weeks after Sonny had his discussion with me about being loyal to Amanda that I went in to get my teeth cleaned. I'd found a new doctor—Henrietta Beckett—and didn't even consider that she could've been related to Lincoln. She had the highest Yelp rating, and despite having four dollar signs, it didn't matter to me, as money had never been an objection. She was fun and nice, just a couple years my junior, and I noticed no pictures of men scattered around, nor did I see a wedding ring, despite her young age._

" _No man in your life?" I asked her as she was just finishing up the consultation aspect of the appointment—new customers only._

 _Henrietta laughs at me then—a chorus of bells in my ears at the well-meaning, yet slightly invasive and personal question. "No. No, I don't date...men."_

 _I raise my eyebrows then. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"_

 _Henrietta laughs again, signing her name to my forms. "No, no, it's really all right," she says. "I don't mind telling a select few of my clients. And you checked 'yes' on the agreement regarding the discriminatory policy question I have in place, so..."_

 _I nod. "Of course—nothing wrong with that."_

 _She looks over the paperwork one more time, before turning back to the new patient intake form and nods to herself. "Okay—you specified an allergy to penicillin, which is very common, so don't you worry, you'll be taken care of in that regard..." She checks off something else before scanning the forms in front of her again. "Okay, there's one last question—have you been sexually active in the last eight weeks?" she wants to know._

 _I raise my eyebrows. "Isn't that personal?"_

 _Henrietta smiles at me. "Yes, but I am a doctor, and we have to cover all our bases just in case."_

 _I let out a little sigh then. "Yeah—yeah, about six weeks ago."_

" _Okay," she says, opening her desk drawer and retrieving a pregnancy test. "Go into the bathroom and take this then."_

" _How do you know it wasn't with a woman?" I ask her._

 _Henrietta immediately moves to put the test back. "I'm sorry!" she says, flaming red immediately. "_ I _shouldn't have assumed—"_

 _I let out a little laugh then and extend my hand towards her. "Kidding—I was just kidding! Here, I'll take it."_

 _Henrietta sighs then and shakes her head. "Careful there," she says, motioning me to her bathroom. "I would've asked you out."_

 _I flash her a smile. "Well, I'm flattered," I tell her. "If I was gay, I'd likely accept in a heartbeat." I go into the bathroom then, taking my purse along with me and shutting and locking the door behind me. I pulled down my jeans and did my business, before placing the test on the side of the sink and cleaning myself up before I washed my hands. I waited for the result to come up, and when it said positive, I didn't know what to think._

 _Henrietta watched as I came out of the bathroom. "Well?"_

" _I'm...pregnant," I said, holding out the test._

 _She raised her eyebrows. "Well, we'll have to postpone," she tells me. "Why don't you go and tell the father?"_

" _Easier said than done," I reply. I don't say anything, and merely nod at Henrietta when she tells me that we can re-schedule in the next few months, presumably at the end of my pregnancy._

" _You're lucky," she says quietly as I turn to leave._

" _What?" I ask, turning around and breaking my silence._

 _She gives me a wistful little smile. "I can't have children."_

 _I raise my eyebrows. "I'm sorry to hear that," I reply, thinking that telling her that she didn't need a man to have children would come across as insensitive. "I hope you figure out everything you need to," I put in, before raising my hand to her and leaving her office._

 _I jump in a cab as soon as I get outside, finding that I am shaking as I give the driver the SVU squad address. I mechanically hand over my credit card at the end of the trip, before retrieving it at the end of the transaction and getting up the stairs to the squad room door. I flash my badge and am let upstairs immediately; I knew that they would think that I was providing information on a case or something, or I could very well have been going up to see Olivia. As I ask the elevator to take me to the correct floor, I roll my shoulders in an attempt to ease my nerves as I step outside the chrome doors._

 _I walk down the hall into the squad room, immediately seeing that Olivia and Amanda are missing, and relief fills me then. I spot Sonny sitting at his desk and as I step inside, he promptly cuts the call he is taken and approaches me. "Where are Olivia and Amanda?" I manage to get out._

" _Caught a case across town," he replies._

" _And Fin?" I ask._

" _Day off—are you okay?" he asks._

 _I shake my head. "No. No, I'm not okay," I reply, and automatically hate how pathetic I sound with my voice shaking. "Can we talk, please?"_

 _Sonny purses his lips, but nevertheless puts an arm around me and guides me into an interrogation room. "Want something to drink?"_

 _I shake my head, sinking into a chair—thankfully, it is the nicer of the two interrogation rooms; I mean, it's not like I committed a crime here, other than sleeping with another woman's husband... "No. Thank you."_

" _How can I help you?" Sonny asks me._

 _I raise my face to his, feeling the hot tears threatening to spill over and down my face as I force myself to make eye contact with him._

" _Oh, no," Sonny says immediately, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "You're not...?"_

 _I nod shakily, running my hands over my legs in discomfort. "I just found out today—I had to get a tooth removed, and the dentist said that I had to take a test just to make sure..."_

" _How late were...?" he asks._

" _Six weeks or so," I tell him quietly._

" _How do you know it's mine?" he demands then, as any guy would in a similar situation, hoping to be off the hook._

 _I give him a look like he's got a dozen heads. "What the hell is the matter with you, Sonny?!" I demand then, hurt in my voice._

" _Right, right—sorry," he says, immediately covering his eyes._

" _Look," I say, getting to my feet, "I don't want anything."_

 _Sonny regards me then in disbelief. "Excuse me?"_

" _I. Don't. Want. Anything," I say, deliberately chopping my words so as he will know exactly what I'm saying. "I'm going to make an appointment by the end of the week for a consultation, and then hopefully by the end of the month," I go on, making my way towards the door, "we won't have to worry about this kind of thing going further—"_

" _No!" Sonny screams then, blocking my way from the door. Standing before me, I catch a glimpse of the man I fell in love with. His forcefulness in following me had been such a turn-on, and yet now..._

" _Get out of my way, Sonny," I say, this time through my teeth._

" _I won't let you!" he replies, in the same tone of voice. "I'm Catholic! I can't let you do this—I won't!"_

" _It's not your decision," I say in a clipped tone. "And besides—you're married. I refuse to raise this baby alone," I tell him. "I'm too young, and it wouldn't be right to ask you to pick—me or Amanda—"_

" _Ask me," he says, desperation in his voice._

 _At once, my mouth falls open. "What?" I whisper._

" _Ask me to pick between you and Amanda," he declares._

 _I shake my head. "It doesn't work that way," I tell him, knowing we are heading into dangerous territory._

" _Ask me, Edythe," he says softly, seductively._

 _My eyes fill with tears. "I can't..."_

" _Do you love me?" he asks me then._

 _I feel my voice choke in my throat on a sob. "Yes," I whisper then, feeling myself trembling then at my declaration. "I love you."_

 _Sonny pulls me to him then, kissing my forehead then and holding me close. "We'll figure it out together," he tells me then._

 _I shake my head then. "I can't have you breaking up your family—"_

" _You are my family now," Sonny declares then, determination in his voice. "I'm going to leave Amanda—"_

" _Sonny!" I shout then. "No!"_

 _He smiles down at me. "I can't let you go again, Edythe," he whispers to me, holding me securely around my waist._

" _We can't..." I whisper._

 _Sonny leans down and kisses me. "I love you..."_

" _I love you, too," I whisper to him, weak in his arms._

" _Marry me," he says softly._

" _Sonny..."_

" _Will you marry me, Edythe Grayson?" he asks, holding me close._

 _I feel the tears cascading down my cheeks then, hardly believing what I was hearing, but so addicted to it that I couldn't stop hearing it. "What did you say?" I whisper, disbelief flooding my tone._

 _A smile plays at his mouth then—he knows that I heard him, yet knows that he needs to ask again. "Marry me, Edythe," Sonny says._

" _I will," I whisper back._

. . .

MAGGIE'S POV

As my biological mother, Olivia Benson and I had had our best of times and our worst of times, and yet when I'd asked her who my father was, things took quite a turn, and not necessarily in the best way. I was never known for being so impulsive, but when I figured out that Olivia wasn't just going to drop a name into the little folder of my life, I knew I had to take drastic action...

 _I left Olivia's later that evening, shaken, still not knowing what I was supposed to do in the grand scheme of things. I got into my car, navigating myself carefully onto the highway, not wanting a repeat of the last time I'd been driving while antsy in some way, shape or form. Other than my revelation to Olivia, she'd told me that Nick was leaving SVU—not due to his injuries, but because his two children were now in San Francisco, and he wanted to be involved in their lives. On the other foot, I'd asked Olivia about my father, but she refused to answer me, and, knowing that I wouldn't get the answer then—or for a while—I almost blew up. However, I decided to save face and keep calm, knowing that, somehow, I'd be able to get the information eventually._

 _I decided that to live with Olivia knowing that she was my birth mother, I was therefore allowed to shake things up a bit. I plug in an address to my GPS system and make my way to my destination, pulling off the freeway in good time and making my way there. The place closed at eight, so I had plenty of time, I figured as I walked in and gave my name to the receptionist._

" _My name is Maggie Grayson," I say, putting out my hand._

" _Hello, Mrs. Grayson," she says, taking note of my ring. "I'm Fern. Welcome to Fur de Leash. What can we do for you today?"_

" _I'm here to adopt a dog," I reply._

" _How wonderful," Fern says. "We'll just bring a consultant to the front here and get you all squared away."_

" _Thank you very much," I reply._

" _You can just have a seat right over there and peruse the pet adoption magazines and figure out what you might want," she says, picking up her desk phone and typing in a few numbers. "Hey, it's Fern here. We have a Maggie Grayson up front who is interested in adopting with us today. Mm-hmm, thank you. I will let her know." She promptly hangs up and looks me. "Someone should be right with you, Mrs. Grayson," Fern tells me._

" _Thank you," I reply._

 _A fashionably-dressed woman in her thirties comes out from the back soon thereafter, a bright smile on her face. "Roberta Feldman," she says, putting out her perfectly-manicured hand. "I own the establishment."_

" _Maggie Grayson," I say, taking her outstretched hand._

" _Great to meet you," she says, and we shake hands. "If you follow me back to my office, we'll have a brief consultation where you'll tell me about your home, your family, your job, things like that. And then you tell me what breeds you may be interested in, if you know that yet."_

" _That sounds good, Ms. Feldman," I reply._

" _Roberta, please," she says._

" _Maggie," I tell her._

" _All right, Maggie. If you'll just follow me," she says, turning around, her stiletto heels clicking on the Vivero flooring._

" _Lovely place you have here," I tell her as we walk down the hallway—the walls were an attractive pale green with white wood paneling. "It all looks vaguely Victorian—did you design it?"_

" _Oh, you flatter me, Maggie," Roberta chuckles. "My wife actually is my designer and the CEO of Fiona's Furnishings."_

" _They had that spread in Better Homes & Gardens last month—isn't that right?" I ask her as we turn, at the end of the hall, to her office suite._

" _Yes, we're quite proud," Roberta says with an indulgent smile, sitting down at her desk and extending her hand for me to sit. "Could I get you anything cool to drink, Maggie?" she asks, gesturing to her mini fridge behind her desk._

" _A bottle of water would be great, thank you," I reply._

" _Spring or sparkling?" she asks, opening the fridge._

" _Spring," I reply._

" _No problem," Maggie says, taking out a spring water for me and a lemonade for herself. "Now," she says, handing over my water and opening her notebook, where I see there is a questionnaire. "Tell me a little about yourself. Where do you currently live?'_

" _I live in a development community full of classic mansions not far from here," I tell her. "Our estate's name is The Winds Manor."_

" _I know the property," Roberta tells me, flashing me a smile. "They hiked the asking price last time I checked. You and your husband must be doing very well for yourselves to have such a nice home."_

" _We both work in law enforcement," I reply._

" _What is your job title?" she asks._

" _Captain of the Manhattan Homicide Unit," I reply._

" _Impressive. And your husband?"_

" _He's a captain with Internal Affairs," I say steadily._

" _Both high-ranking," Roberta says. "Do you have children?"_

" _We recently had our fourth," I reply, finding myself prideful in discussing my children. "We began fostering our first daughter, Edythe, shortly before we were married and adopted her soon thereafter," I reply. "She's seventeen now—will be eighteen next winter. Then there were our twins, Olivia and Donald, and they're five. And then our last one, Mason, is two."_

" _Okay," Roberta continues, writing down the information. "And do you have any animals in the house currently?"_

" _No," I reply. "We've always been animal lovers but we could never find the right opportunity to have a dog."_

" _And what makes you think that now is the right opportunity?"_

 _I smile at her. "It's just time," I reply._

 _She nods. "All right. Well, we can go over a few breeds that could considerably work for you..."_

" _Actually, Roberta," I say, "not that I don't trust you and your instincts, but I kind of already had a breed in mind..."_

 _She nods. "Of course," she replies. "What is it?"_

" _A Samoyed," I reply._

" _They're excellent with children, if raised correctly," Roberta says. "I was going to suggest that breed myself. My sister had a few in her lifetime—they're excellent dogs, really."_

" _That's great," I reply. "Do you have any at the moment?"_

" _We do. One of our mama dogs just had a litter about ten weeks ago. Eight weeks, as I'm sure you know, if the minimum age for adoption."_

" _Yes, I'm aware of that."_

" _Good. Well, if you'd like to follow me back to their kennel, we can maybe find what you're looking for."_

" _Wonderful," I reply._

 _I get to my feet and follow Roberta out of her office and down another hallway, whereupon we make a turn at the sign on the wall which reads_ _DOG KENNELS_ _. I watch as Roberta unlocks a door efficiently, and we head down a lane of chain-linked cubicles full of dogs and puppies. We get to the Samoyed kennel and I feel myself grinning as Roberta unlocks the gate and steps inside, motioning for me to follow her in._

" _This is Tiffany, the mother," Roberta says, gesturing to the largest dog, who is at work cleaning some of her puppies. "As you can see, Tiffany had a litter of six; I'll tell you right away that that's on the larger side. The ratio of boys to girls is three to three, which is surprisingly equal, as I'm sure you understand."_

" _Basic math," I joke, and Roberta laughs._

" _Those two over there," Roberta continues, "are the sister-twins—that's what we call them, anyway. They're always together, and we're thinking that we'll have to sell them as a pair."_

 _I step forward then, making kissing noises, bending down and extending my hand as I approach them. The pair of dogs lift their heads before one bounds for me, and I feel my heart skip a beat as the second dog is more cautious. However, they both come to me, and nuzzle my hands and kiss my fingers. I feel myself chuckling ever so slightly, amused by their antics._

" _Two will run about a thousand dollars," Roberta tells me._

" _That's not so bad," I reply. "Have they been spayed?"_

" _Yes, all the puppies are spayed and neutered when they hit eight weeks," Roberta replies easily. "They've also been given their six to eight week and ten to twelve week shots. They will need a first round of rabies vaccinations anywhere from two weeks to three months from now, plus a second round of DHPP vaccination in four to six weeks."_

" _And the housebroken situation?" I ask._

" _They're completely housebroken," Roberta assures me._

" _And their diet?"_

" _No bones—it could hurt their intestines," she says, and I notice then that she pronounces it 'in-test-tine," which annoys me for some reason. "They will favor meat juices or bacon fat in the beginning—it bulks them up, but you must never allow them to get overweight, it's terribly bad for them. "Chicken and lamb and rice are better main meals for them, due to them being less at risk for their contribution of food allergies."_

" _Do you sell food here?"_

" _Yes," Roberta replies. "We have our own brand of dog food—which we will deliver every two weeks to your house, in bags of different weights, depending on your breed and available storage space. Our brand is called_ _Cosmopawliton, and it ensures an organic, grain-free diet which animals love. Our dry food flavors consist of Balmy Beef, Luscious Lamb, Gratifying Goat, Choice Chicken, and Piquant Pork. However, our wet food only comes in beef, lamb, and chicken. We had a bison flavor for a while, but it didn't sell very well."_

 _I nod. "What sizes do they come in?"_

" _Five pound bags, ten pound, twenty pound, and fifty pound," Roberta says easily and efficiently._

" _And do you sell shampoo products here?" I ask._

" _Yes. Depending on coat, of course. Fern could help you with that."_

" _All right... And collars?"_

" _Yes, we have a pretty good selection of those—leather, suede, silk... Some of ours even have rhinestones on them. We also do our licensing on sight, as well as chipping the dogs."_

 _I nod. "Okay. I'll take these two here, then—the sister-twins," I joke. "I suppose there's some paperwork."_

" _Yes," Roberta says, bending down and picking up one of the dogs. "If you just want to grab the other one, you can follow me out and we'll get them situated in the 'Adoption Room'."_

" _What's that?" I ask, scooping up the other pup and walking out of there, making sure to lock the gate behind me._

" _It's where we keep the dogs getting adopted."_

 _I follow Roberta out of the kennel room and we go down another hallway, closer to her office, which reads_ _ADOPTION ROOM_ _. Inside are plenty of puppy pads, as well as kibble, water, and many toys. Roberta sets the first puppy down and I do so to the second, whereupon we leave them alone and make our way to her office at the end of the hallway. I put down my information on the packet of paperwork that Roberta has given me, while Roberta radios an associate to fetch the puppies to microchip them and get their licenses squared away._

 _After I'm finished with the paperwork, I go to the front of the establishment, where Fern is waiting for me and brings me over to the other side of the reception area, which has been dubbed_ _WAGS TO RICHES_ _, and a section of it is called_ _DOGGIE DO'S_ _, presumably reserved for dog accessories and necessities. I select the foamy-looking shampoo that Fern recommends and pick out leashes and collars as well. I then select some food bowls—two each—and one water bowl. Fern then brings me over to the kennel section, but I shake my head, telling her that I won't be crating them, but I do pick out a large dog bed for the living room, knowing full well that Edythe will probably want one to sleep with, while Hunter will have to get used to the idea of the other sleeping with us. I also buy harnesses to install in my car to ensure their safety._

 _The dogs are brought out to me—freshly washed—and I pay for everything, and I find myself smiling as I put on their collars and secure their leashes. I walk outside with them, one bag slung over my arm, and bring them to the car with me, with Fern closely behind. She installs the harnesses into my back seat for me and wishes me well as I get the dogs secured in the back of the car. I then put the bag of new things for them in the passenger seat, along with a fifty-pound bag of food for the both of them._

 _The freeway drive is not so lonely, and I send a text to Edythe, letting her know that I am on my way home. I tell her that I have a surprise for her and not to tell her father, the twins, or Mason, but to come directly outside to meet me. I am surprised that she is waiting for me in the late afternoon sunlight as I pull up, and I exit my vehicle quickly after parking. I smile at my daughter and duck into the back, retrieving the more excited of the two puppies and hand her over to my oldest child._

" _M-om!" Edythe squeals, taking the puppy immediately. "For me?!"_

 _I nod. "All for you," I reply, taking the sister pup out of the back._

" _Wait... You got a dog, too?!"_

 _I laugh. "Well, yes. And besides, these two love each other—it would have been cruel to separate them."_

" _Do they have names?" she asks as the puppy snuggles into her arms._

" _No," I reply. "You can name her yourself."_

" _It's a girl?"_

 _I laugh. "Yes, and this is her sister."_

" _What's going on down here?" Hunter asks, walking around the side of the house where he was presumably reading. "Maggie. What's that?"_

" _These are the new members of the Grayson family," I reply. "That's... Someone, I suppose, and this is...Seraphina," I say, feeling stupid at the first name popping into my head. "What are you calling yours, honey?"_

" _Arabella," Edythe replies. "It sounds like some maiden somewhere..."_

 _I laugh. "It certainly does," I reply, walking with her into the house, while Hunter shakes his head—I know he'll warm to the idea eventually._

Not the best idea—bringing two dogs into the family without discussing it with Hunter, but he did warm up to the idea, thankfully. Olivia's and my relationship wasn't exactly what you would call normal, but we definitely had our mother and daughter moments now and again. It also helped that we were in the same line of work so as we could help each other on cases.

 _When a string of rape-homicides happened in our borough in the early weeks of 2019, Olivia immediately wanted Homicide in on it, and we showed up there together. After investigating for over an hour at the site, Olivia suggested that we return to the SVU squad to re-group. I agreed and we returned together, with Amanda holding down the fort at the site itself._

" _Carisi will know how to handle all this," Olivia assures me. "I hear he's been having drinks with Edythe..."_

" _She assures me it's all-business," I tell Olivia quickly. "She wants to go for detective ultimately and he said he'd give her pointers."_

" _Okay," Olivia says quietly, mulling it over as we get closer to the SVU squad building itself. "I know she knows that he's married to Amanda. I don't suppose you've given her the 'hands-off the married man' lecture..."_

" _After what happened with Baxter last year," I say, shaking my head, "I think that ship has sailed."_

" _If you're sure..."_

" _Hey, I know my daughter," I put in, not wanting to tell Olivia to tell me how to raise my kid._

" _I get it," Olivia says, nodding and pulling into the parking lot._

 _We head inside together, not even bothering to show off our badges—people know who we are, although the familial relationship remains a mystery. We get into the elevator and reach the squad room, saying pleasantries to the other officers and such on duty, before stepping into Olivia's office. I look around—it hadn't changed much since Don had left, and I found myself missing him to no end._

" _Wonder where Carisi is," I say aloud._

 _Olivia is staring into the interrogation room then, mouth agape, and when I follow her line of sight, my mouth falls open then. "Maggie..."_

" _...oh, god," I say quietly. Immediately, turning into an invasive parent, I dart across Olivia's office before she can stop me and turn on the sound of the interrogation room before us._

" _Get out of my way, Sonny," Edythe says, speaking through her teeth._

" _I won't let you!" Sonny replies, angrily. "I'm Catholic! I can't let you do this—I won't!"_

" _Edythe...Sonny...no..." I whisper._

" _It's not your decision," Edythe says in a clipped tone. "And besides—you're married. I refuse to raise this baby alone," she tells him. "I'm too young, and it wouldn't be right to ask you to pick—me or Amanda—"_

" _Ask me," Sonny says, desperation in his voice._

 _At once, Edythe's mouth falls open. "What?" she whispers._

" _Ask me to pick between you and Amanda," Sonny declares._

 _Edythe shakes her head. "It doesn't work that way," she tells him._

" _Ask me, Edythe," Sonny says softly, seductively, and it turns my stomach to see him talking to my daughter like that._

 _Edythe's eyes fill with tears. "I can't..."_

" _Do you love me?" he asks her then._

 _Edythe's voice chokes in her throat on a sob. "Yes," she whispers then, and I see then that she is trembling. "I love you."_

 _Sonny pulls Edythe to him then, kissing her forehead then and holding her close, unwilling to let her go. "We'll figure it out together," he tells her then._

 _Edythe shakes her head then. "I can't have you breaking up your family—"_

" _You are my family now," Sonny declares then, determination in his voice. "I'm going to leave Amanda—"_

" _Sonny!" Edythe shouts at him. "No!"_

 _Sonny smiles down at her. "I can't let you go again, Edythe," he whispers to her, holding her securely around her waist._

" _We can't..." Edythe whispers._

 _Sonny leans down and kisses her. "I love you..."_

" _I love you, too," she whispers to him._

" _Marry me," he says softly._

" _Sonny..."_

" _Will you marry me, Edythe Grayson?" he asks, holding her close._

" _What did you say?" she whispers, disbelief flooding her tone._

 _A smile plays at his mouth then—he knows that she heard him, yet knows that he needs to ask again. "Marry me, Edythe," Sonny says._

" _I will," Edythe whispers back._

 _I turn to Olivia then, feeling the fear on my face and in my voice. "What should we do here?" I ask her. "That's my daughter..."_

" _...and my detective," she says quietly, mulling it over for a moment. "You talk to her, I'll talk to him."_

" _Now or later?" I ask, gripping the window sill in front of me, remembering that Elliot once stood here with Don Cragen, in this exact spot, as I spoke to George Huang about my upcoming life with Hunter._

 _Olivia moves her dark gaze to meet mine. "No time like the present," she says diplomatically._

. . .

LEIA' POV

"So, that's how Grandma Maggie and Olivia found out?" I ask quietly, my hands in fists upon my knees.

"That's how," my mother confirms. "That's all of it."

"Why didn't you tell me all of this before...?"

She sighs. "Sometimes we just don't want to give away all the information so quickly," she replies.

I nod then, still processing. "And after Grandma Maggie talked to you?" I ask her then. "What happened?"

"She yelled at me," my mother admitted.

"Yelled at you?" I demand.

"Yes. After what happened with Baxter—which you know about—she thought I got the whole married men thing out of my system..."

"Apparently not," I say, before I can stop myself.

My mother smiles ruefully. "Guess I deserve that one," she says quietly.

"And after she yelled?" I want to know.

She sighs. "Well, she told me to lie to Sonny," she continues, "just like I lied to Lincoln and to you, for years."

"Lie to him?" I ask. "How?"

"Your grandmother and Olivia paid for me to leave on a vacation," she says. "With Texas out of the question, they said I should get as far away as possible without leaving the country..."

"Where did you go?" I ask.

"California," my mother replies. "I had you in California."

"And what lie did you tell Sonny?"

"The obvious—that I'd lost the baby and had gone 'soul-searching' to cleanse myself of wrong-doing," she replied.

"And Henrietta?"

"I remembered what she said—about not being able to have children. I told her about my situation and she agreed to adopt you at birth. I couldn't look at you," she admitted then, with a sad smile. "I knew if I did, I'd change my mind, and I didn't want to disappoint Henrietta."

"But you were engaged to Sonny," I say, trying to back-track. "Why didn't you just marry him and have me?"

"Because I didn't want to be the direct cause of his marriage ending," my mother replied softly. "It soon became apparent that I was, and that I'll be the only woman he ever wants."

"And Dad?" I ask, softly. "What about Dad?"

"Your father is the love of my life," she replies.

I don't ask her which father she means—I know that it will soon become evident which one she's talking about. "Do you have news on Blake's trial?" I ask then, wanting to get back to work topics.

"No news—just that we're called there tomorrow at nine," she tells me. "And, listen, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" I ask.

She gives me a smile. "I haven't told your father yet, but I've decided to retire at the end of December."

"Retire?!" I cry out. "No! SVU needs you!"

She smiles. "Well, I think it's time to pass the baton."

"To Sonny?" I guess.

She shakes her head. "No. I've spoken to IAB—mainly your grandfather—and they're all in agreement."

"About getting some new blood in here?"

"Something like that," she replies, getting to her feet and offering me her hand. "I know you've only just made detective a year ago, but I put in a good word for you to take the Sergeant's Exam."

"Sergeant?" I cry out, getting shakily to my feet.

"Your test is at the end of November," my mother tells me patiently. "If you pass, then I'll retire and give SVU to you."

"Me?!" I demand, hardly knowing what to say.

"Sleep on it," my mother says, picking up my hand and shaking it. "But personally, I think Sergeant Leia Stone sounds pretty good."

. . .

"They'll be calling us back in at any minute, I just wanted to give you a quick call first," I say to Kassandra on the phone, relieved that she answered. "Sorry, it's been a long six weeks..."

"I'm always honored to hear from my wife," she replies.

"Listen, I've given it a lot of thought, and if you want to foster Angel, I think it's a wonderful idea," I tell her.

Kassandra gives a little sigh on the other end of the phone. "I have another thing to discuss with you—something I've done, and probably should have said something about..."

"Tell me quickly," I tell her.

"Well, you know how I started looking into sperm banks?" she asks.

"Of course I know," I reply. "I know you want a biological child—I don't fault or blame you for it."

"Well, listen," she says, "about eight weeks ago, I went in and got inseminated. I know I should have said something, but you were working double shifts with the Duke Ross case and Blake's..."

"I'm literally shaking right now," I say quietly into the phone. "Are you calling to tell me that you're...?"

"Yes," Kassandra says on the other end. "Check your phone."

"Check my...?" I ask, pulling it away from my face and looking down at it. I have a media message from Kassandra, which turns out to be a picture. Accessing it, I manage to enlarge it quickly, and see that she's circled something and written a little message onto the photo. "Kassandra...?" I whisper, reading the words, 'It's a Boy!' which stare back at me.

"We're going to have a son," she says.

"A son? Our son?" I say quietly.

"Yes, our son," she tells me. "I'm going to call the fostering agency about Angel," she says then. "Tell me how court goes."

"I love you," I say to her. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she says. "See you tonight."

"Bye," I say, turning around to see my mother coming towards me. "Well?" I want to know.

She puts an arm around me. "Marlowe wouldn't take the plea, and it doesn't look good for him," she replies.

"And so?" I ask.

"Jury's back—I guess they made up their minds."

I nod. "Let's get in there," I say.

We make our way in, sitting just behind DA Kirkwood, who gives us a look full of unknowing that it makes me sit upon the edge of my seat. Grandma Maggie slips in with a smile, sitting on my mother's side, while Sonny sits behind us. Blake quickly returns to the courtroom then, and moves in my row to sit beside me. The jury files in next, sweeping into their little box, their faces doing their best to remain neutral as Judge Thompson regards them with a serious face. The jury foreman gets to their feet then, handing off the verdict on a piece of paper, which the bailiff takes and presents to the judge. Judge Thompson regards it then briefly, before handing it back over to the bailiff, who returns it to the jury foreman, who stands at attention, waiting.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge Thompson asks.

"We have, Your Honor," the foreman replies, and Blake clasps my hands in a moment of fear.

"On the charge of rape in the first degree, how do you find?"

"Guilty, Your Honor," the foreman says.

"On the charge of assault in the first degree, how do you find?"

"Guilty, Your Honor," the foreman says.

"On the charge of bribery in the first degree, how do you find?"

"Guilty, Your Honor," the foreman says.

"Noted," Judge Thompson says, turning to Blake. "I am so sorry you had to go through this, and we will ensure that a proper punishment is brought forth." She turns then to Marlowe, sitting there, defiant until the end. "Bailiff, please remand the defendant, Marlowe Fairbanks, back to Rikers, where he will remain until his sentencing."

"Yes, Your Honor," a bailiff replies, stepping forward.

Marlowe moves towards the bailiff then, but nobody thought to handcuff him. He moves across the table, with just enough effort for those around him to believe that he believes he deserves this treatment. Just before he is moved from the courtroom, he makes a grab for the bailiff's weapon, and holds it aloft.

"Down!" I scream, everyone around me falls downward before the shot is fired off, resounding around the courtroom.

Marlowe takes out the bailiffs, before running out of there, gun aloft. Despite everyone protesting around me, I get to my feet and go after him, my heart beating in my ears as I run out the side door. I throw them open then, seeing him running towards a back exit, making a beeline for freedom.

"Marlowe!" I shout, my gun out.

He immediately stops then, turning around. "You don't have the guts to shoot me, a dyke like you!" he yells.

"Don't mess with me—I'll blow your head off!" I scream at him. "Get down on your knees and drop the gun, Marlowe!"

"No, I won't!" he screams. "That jury shouldn't have found me guilty!"

"You _are_ guilty, Marlowe!" I shout at him. "Now, put the gun down on the ground, and get on your knees!"

"Never!" he yells, pointing the gun directly at me. "Say goodbye!"

Suddenly, the doors crash open behind me then, and Sonny stands there. "Drop the weapon!" he yells at him.

Marlowe, scared at the sudden noise, grips too tightly on the gun, which almost immediately goes off. I move to stop the bullet, but feel a pair of strong hands on my back then, and I'm thrown against the wall, a second shot going off, followed by a third. I feel my head pounding as I lift it, a ringing in my ears as I look around me. Looking up, I see Marlowe with a direct hit to the chest, and he's either out cold or dead. I turn around then, and see Sonny is collapsed behind me.

"Sonny!" I yell aloud then, my voice ripping from my throat as I crawl towards him. Finally, I get to my feet, but immediately go down again with a scream, finding that a bullet is now imbedded in my leg. I manage to crawl the rest of the way to him, and I see that he's still alive. "Come on—it's okay," I say, putting pressure on his chest. "It's all going to be okay..." I whisper, my hands covered in his blood.

"You're...hurt," he whispers.

I shake my head. "I'm fine," I whisper, ignoring the pool of blood that I'm now kneeling in. "I'll be fine..."

He smiles up at me. "You're so like your mother..."

I shake my head. "Don't think about it—you're going to be okay," I assure him, and continue to put pressure on his open chest. "You'll be fine..."

He shakes his head. "This is it for me..."

I shake my head, finding the tears springing to my eyes. "No, no! You can't go yet!" I shout. "Sonny, don't!"

He pats my hand. "I wish things would've turned out differently," he says quietly to me. "All the pain I've caused you..."

"Forget it," I say immediately. "Don't think about it..."

"I have to beg your forgiveness..."

"I forgive you," I say immediately, wishing that I wasn't crying. "Don't beg me for anything—I forgive you. All is forgiven."

Sonny smiles up at me then. "The nose was mine," he says quietly. "And the gold highlights in your hair—mine... I should've guessed a long time ago," he says, and coughs ever so slightly. "I'm sorry for failing you in every way..."

"You didn't fail me," I tell him softly. "You didn't. I promise." I hesitate for a moment then, wanting to say more. "I'm going to need you alive, because when Mom retires at the end of the year, I'll need to go to you for advice..."

He smiles. "You don't need me—you're all grown up."

"I'll always need my father," I say, the words just sounding right.

He nods, raising his hand—stained with blood—and puts it upon my head. "I'll always be right here," he says.

"No..." I whisper, "...don't."

"The Lord is calling me to him," he says.

"Dad...please," I say, desperation in my voice.

"It's time," he whispers with a saint-like smile. "I can't stop it."

"Please..." I whisper.

"Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I accept from Your hands whatever kind of death it may please You to send me this day with all its pains, penalties and sorrows; in reparation for all of my sins, for the souls in Purgatory, for all those who will die today and for Your greater glory..." He whispers, his eyes beginning to close, and his cheeks going slack as his last breath leaves him.  
Raising my blood-stained hand, I cross myself, such a thing so foreign to me, but knowing that that's what he would have wanted. "Amen," I whisper.

The doors crash open then, and I raise my eyes to my mother's, whose own fill with tears as she lets out a scream of anguish. Grandma Maggie pulls her out of there then, as I shakily get to my feet. I see Lavinia lurking behind, and I turn around to check and see if Marlowe is alive—he is. I tell her to call a bus to fix him up before shipping him off to Rikers, and she agrees to do so. Shakily, I leave the back hallway, stained with blood, and make my way towards the ladies' room, where I wash my hands as best I can. Next, I head out of the court building, whereupon I'm besieged by reporters. I ignore them all, in my numb state, and walk slowly down the street, when my phone ringing catches me off guard. I get it out of my pocket, my hands shaking.

"Detective Stone," I say into it.

"This is the testing agency," says a woman on the other end. "I'm calling to congratulate you—you made sergeant."

I cannot even smile at my victory. "Thank you," I reply.

"Have a good day," the woman says.

"You too," I say, hanging up.

I look down at myself then, covered in blood, and know then that this is part of the territory. I walk into my parking lot and get into my car, making my way across town to the squad room. It is empty, and I know then that everyone will have immediately got word of Sonny's—my father's—death, and I trudge through the room, now resembling an empty shell without the worker bees milling about. I open my mother's office then, crossing the threshold and walking up to her desk slowly, and I feel as if I am an unworthy trespasser. I move around her desk and sit in the seat, running my hands across the varying surfaces.

I hear footsteps then, and, looking up, see a man about Olivia's age stepping into the squad room. Getting to my feet, I hope he will not be turned off by the sight of blood, and move to pull my blazer shut. "Can I help you?"

He shakes his head. "No. Just came by to check the place out."

"You worked here?" I ask.

He turns to look at me and smiles. "Long time ago, yeah." He looks me over then and cocks his head to one side. "Who are you?"

"Sergeant Leia Stone," I reply. "My mother is Captain Beckett."

"That explains it," he tells me with a smile. He looks over the place then, almost as if he has discovered an old friend. "That was my desk, right there," he tells me, nodding to one by the door. "Of course, same location, different desk..."

"Who are you?" I ask.

He turns and looks at me, his silver eyes piercing as he regards my curiosity with a mild form of amusement. "I was Detective Elliot Stabler," he replies. "But now, people just call me Elliot."

I find myself giving him a smile then. "Ah. We meet at last."

"You've heard of me?"

"Who hasn't heard of you?" I ask him. "My grandmother's first love? My great-grandmother's best friend and former partner?" I cross my arms then and regard him for a moment. "Who couldn't know who you are?"

"You taking over here?" he asks.

"In January," I reply.

"What happened there?" he asks, nodding to the blood on my blouse.

"Shooting after a verdict," I say shortly.

"Anyone down?" he asks, and, for the first time, regards my leg. "You should probably get that looked at..."

I shrug. "Can't feel a thing."

He nods. "Still..."

"It takes two to know a secret," I say.

Elliot cocks his head to one side. "Or to tango..."

I give him a smile, the nonsensical way our conversation has turned filling me with amusement. "You're right," I reply. "But people in our line of work do know a thing or two..."

He smiles back. "At least I did when I was here..."

"...and perhaps, one day, so will I," I reply.

THE END


End file.
